


The Honeymoon is over - Let the Questing begin!

by mariathermann



Category: Merlin (TV)
Genre: Action/Adventure, Camelot, Dragons, Gen, Magic, Quests, Witches
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-12-29
Updated: 2014-01-02
Packaged: 2018-01-06 14:21:18
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 21
Words: 77,758
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1107898
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mariathermann/pseuds/mariathermann
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Maria Thermann’s fan fiction “Merlin” (BBC series) sees the action set between seasons 4 and 5. This piece of fiction is written purely as a fun writing exercise and was not created with the intention of any commercial exploitation on my part. The copyright for all BBC Merlin series characters & storylines remains with the BBC and Shine Ltd, the producers of the show.<br/>Part One was created on 29th June 2012 and inspired by tweets sent by director Alice Troughton and actor Eoin Macken relating to an early morning, after party swim.</p>
<p>Arthur, his knights and Merlin respond to the call for help from Arthur's godmother. They set out on a quest that leads them deep into an enchanted forest, where they encounter witches and fall prey to an evil wizard king. Can Merlin save the day and avert a war between Camelot and an ancient kingdom before a main character pays the ultimate sacrifice? This is as much a story about Merlin and Arthur learning about kingship as it is an adventure with dragons, witches, trolls and the danger of flying radishes.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. 1

“Tell me Ethelgunda, what can you see?” Yolanda scratched her warty nose and stared deeper into the steaming cauldron. Next to her, her sister Ethelgunda quivered with excitement.

“A group of knights…riding through our forest...they’re stopping…they’re dismounting…the blonde one’s walking over to the edge of our lake…just look at them…so young…so strong…so…hmmm…delicious,” Ethelgunda gave the cauldron another stir and cackled, seemingly licking her lips at the thought of such delightful visitors riding towards her castle keep. 

High above their heads, peering out into the dusky sky from her perch on the bartizan, Marigold sniffed the balmy air. A swift sailed past her, busy chasing the first moths venturing out, now that the sun was setting. Below Marigold’s small turret, the forest spread out as far as the horizon, its oaks, firs, beech and pine trees swaying dreamily in the evening breeze.

Marigold’s stomach rumbled loudly. She hadn’t eaten in ever such a long time…the scent of herbs and fried capon wafting up the spiral staircase was making her quite giddy. She hurried down from the bartizan to join her sisters in the hall, nearly snagging her trailing black robes on a broom lying abandoned on the stairs.

Despite the heat of the day Yolanda and Ethelgunda had lit a fire, over which a cauldron was now lustily bubbling away. Marigold coughed when the smoke-filled hall greeted her nostrils, but her sisters were too absorbed in their task to notice her. She trotted across the flagstones to join them, each woman seemingly lost in her own thoughts. To get their attention, Marigold picked up a log from a pile next to the hearth and threw it on the fire. The log landed in the centre of the flames, hissed and spat in protest, but finally succumbed to the glow and resisted no more.

Marigold smoothed out her long black hair and positioned herself next to her eldest sister. “Will it work this time, do you think?” She didn’t dare to look up into Ethelgunda’s face, just in case she should shake her head in refute.

“Of course it will!” Ethelgunda dipped a wrinkly finger into the broth and watched the brown juice drip slowly down her hand. With a flick of her purplish tongue she caught the liquid, before it could disappear down her lace sleeve. “All the ingredients are right this time. To make doubly sure, I picked the herbs myself.” She threw an accusing glance at Yolanda. “This is a real princeling, my darlings, eagerly riding through our woods. Aw look, he’s even taking a bath with his little playmates, so they’re all going to be nice and clean for their visit.”

“Not like the last one you mean...that imposter Hrothgar?” Marigold shuddered; he’d been such a disappointment. “He stank to high heaven. Hadn’t washed in years, I’d wager.”

Yolanda, keen to get a closer look at the picture in the cauldron, elbowed Marigold out of the way, whose plump frame threw a shadow over the pleasant aspect in the cauldron. The women’s noses nearly touched the surface of the broth, as they huddled together, each sweating profusely in front of the fire, but refusing to give as much as an inch of ground to the other.

“My goodness…that large one…with the arms…he looks a bit of a handful,” Yolanda pointed at the tallest of the knights, who was busy taking off his cloak and chainmail. 

“You can say that again! Nature has certainly blessed the lad.” Ethelgunda’s wrinkly cheeks glowed as she gave the soup another stir. 

Having divested himself off his cloak and chainmail, the young knight stretched his powerful arms and yawned. His fellow knights were already in the lake. The knight dropped his heavy armour to the ground and was about to step out of his hose and shirt. At that moment a bead of sweat slid off Yolanda’s bulbous nose and hit the surface of the broth. The picture of the bathing knights vanished instantly.

“Hell and damnation, Yolanda! Why couldn’t you keep your beak out of the cauldron for a little longer?” Her sisters looked at Ethelgunda and grinned. “Erm…I meant, now we won’t be able to see our little princeling’s reaction, when our welcome party arrives!” Ethelgunda hurried to explain.

Marigold poked a forlorn finger into the steaming broth. “Can’t you bring them back? That last one…the one with the arms…I think he’s rather cute.”

“No, I can’t, not without belladonna, which someone forgot to pick this morning!” Ethelgunda growled.

Yolanda turned abruptly away and picked up a satchel and scythe. “Do you think there’s any left in the kitchen garden?”

“Nooooo,” roared Ethelgunda, “because somebody didn’t replenish it, when I asked her to. Somebody clearly far too busy flirting with the blacksmith’s son!”

“You’re just jealous ‘cause that cross-eyed wonder, the village magistrate, threw you over last month. Get over it and give the rest of us a break!” Yolanda stamped her foot hard but instantly regretted it, when she caught the squelching sound of an expiring pet toad and a gasp of horror escaping her sister’s throat.

Marigold beat a hasty retreat to the safety of her turret. She hated her sisters’ bickering over men. As far as she was concerned, there were plenty of them to go around and most of them weren’t worth falling out over. Except perhaps the young knight with the impressive arms. Taking two steps at a time, Marigold nearly tripped over the broom on the last step.

“Keep your eyes peeled. Let us know the moment they arrive!” Yolanda yelled up the spiral staircase. “And don’t think we didn’t notice you sneaking that capon under your robe, you greedy pig!”

Below her on the drawbridge the sound of marching feet announced the departure of the welcoming party. Marigold watched the contingent of armour plated woodland trolls head into the trees and disappear into the silent forest.

She sighed and pulled the illicit roasted fowl from under her cloak. Biting into the crisp brown skin with gusto, juice running down her warty chin and down the front of her velvet gown, Marigold chewed thoughtfully on a roasted leg. “I hope they’re not going to hurt the knights…Ethelgunda’s trolls can be so rough sometimes…I wonder if the knight with the arms enjoys eating capons as much as I do?”

* * *

Half way across the forest…

 

“I think we all deserve a rest…from Gawain’s endless moaning! I get your point… a long ride on a very hot day…and so far not a trace of the reason for our quest. Let’s make a camp here for the night,” King Arthur dismounted from his horse and sighed resignedly. “It’s as good a place as any and what’s even better, there’s plenty of fresh water, so Gawain can finally have a wash. Merlin, what’s for dinner?”

“How should I know? You haven’t actually killed anything, yet! Getting a little rusty with the old crossbow, aren’t we?” Merlin patted his liege’s horse dry and led it to the edge of the lake for a much needed drink. 

“Must be all that married bliss that’s putting him off his aim. The last stag positively walked away with a snigger, knowing there was no danger whatsoever with a weary bridegroom at the trigger.” Gawain winked and the other knights laughed.

“Haha, very funny! I admit, so far we haven’t exactly covered ourselves in glory on this quest…but it’s good to be out of Camelot on a hot day like this, don’t you think?” King Arthur clouted Gawain on the back, firmly, but not unkindly. The knight’s knees sagged under the blow and he flopped down on a tree stump, where he pretended to busy himself with his boots. The other knights knew Arthur’s friendly demonstrations of comradeship only too well and viewed Gawain’s feeble attempts at a cover up with disdain.

A little stiff after their long journey, Arthur took off his gloves and cloak. Stretching his arms and legs, he surveyed the lay of the land. Before him the lake glistened in the last rays of the sun. In the background the verdant hills beckoned him to explore, to seek adventure, to marvel at the beauty of the world and its many mysteries. Closer to home, the sight of cooking utensils emerging from Merlin’s saddle bags reminded Arthur to put one of his most sacred royal duties into practice, namely to get up his servant’s nose as often as he could.

“Merlin, when you’ve watered the horses, fetch some firewood and get cooking! I could eat a whole garlic boar by myself,” Arthur rubbed his growling stomach, “but I guess we’ll have to make do with your infamous bean stew instead?”

His long suffering servant Merlin sighed and unsaddled another horse. “Yep, unless you can persuade some fish to jump into our pot by royal command, it’ll be bean stew all the way until the end of our quest.”

“Please don’t say that! I’m always the one who ends up sleeping next to Gawain!” Sir Elyan groaned. “You have no idea what prolonged exposure to fermented bean stew à la Gawain can do to a knight’s morale.”

“Very funny Elyan, you don’t exactly smell of roses either after one of Merlin’s dinners, you know!” 

The hurt in Gawain’s voice made Elyan relent. “Speaking of the end of our quest…when is it actually going to start? I mean, we must be nearly five leagues in, so where’s the famed oak tree and, more importantly, where’s the damsel in distress?”

“Good question! If I knew for certain a beautiful fairy godmother and two pretty maidens were waiting at the end of this quest…or at least three lusty tavern wenches with a tankard of mead…bean stew or not…I’d overlook the culinary deficiencies and be quite eager for tomorrow’s ride,” Gawain got up from the tree stump and tore off his boots, causing Sir Percival and Sir Leon to retreat with haste.

Arthur took a crumpled piece of parchment from his saddle bag. He studied it briefly, before putting it back. “According to the drawing, we must be within a short ride of our meeting point.”

“Who’s for a swim before dinner?” Not waiting for an answer Gawain had already ripped off his shirt and breeches. He was heading for a refreshing dip in the lake before anyone could stop him. Half way into the water, Gawain doubled over, howling with pain. The waves crashed over his head and the surface of the lake smoothed over again. Momentarily gone from their view, Gawain re-emerged seconds later, when his tousle-haired head broke the surface and he came up spluttering.

“Watch out for the crabs,” Sir Leon chuckled. “They like to hide under rocks close by the shore.”

“Now he tells me!” Gawain lifted his left foot out of the water. A sizeable crab dangled off his big toe. He hurled the lake dweller into the camp and surrendered himself to the welcoming waves. “Here’s one for the pot, Merlin! Come on in my lords or are your aristocratic toes too dainty?”

One by one, Merlin watched the knights enter the lake, each employing his own style and method to cope with the coldness of the water. Arthur, clearly trying to maintain dignity even when in a state of undress, walked slowly up to the water’s edge, dipped a royal toe in and shuddered with pleasure, before following his knights into the lake. Raucous laughter ensued, when Gawain caught his second crab of the day.

Merlin shrugged his shoulders, gave the horses a good rub down before heading deeper into the forest to fetch firewood, mumbling as he picked up twigs and kindling. On their way into Grendel’s Forest in Odin’s realm they had encountered three stags, five pheasants, two wild boar, fifteen rabbits and one rather rude bandit, all of whom had walked away unharmed. What in the name of Hecate was wrong with Arthur’s aim?

Lack of sleep…maybe…a man in love who’s extending goodwill to all mankind? Perhaps! But forest animals surviving one of Arthur’s quests totally unmolested? Not bloody likely!

Merlin didn’t relish the thought of daily bean stew either…firstly, there was the devastating effect it had on Gawain’s insides and secondly, the king’s level of grumpiness caused by a meat-less diet would frankly be unbearable. Merlin wondered if he knew any stunning spells that might bag them a few rabbits. He looked up into the dark canopy above. Even roasted squirrels were better than beans with onions every day.

He absentmindedly tripped over a root and fell. Merlin rubbed his knee and groaned. Nothing seemed to go right on this trip. First, they had received rumours of an advancing army having crossed the borders into King Cenric’s realm. On the morning of their departure Queen Guinevere had sprained her ankle and couldn’t join them on their quest. Now Arthur was off his aim. Whatever next?

Merlin eyed the hole in his trouser knee with distaste. Whispering a magic spell, he got up, the hole in his trousers mended itself instantly and a bundle of firewood and kindling flew into his outstretched arms. He nodded approvingly. About time things were going his way. He headed slowly back to the camp, pondering how on earth he could stretch the flesh of two crabs into enough dinner for his king and several hungry knights. Perhaps Gawain’s extremities had managed to catch another crustacean…or better still, a large pike and a couple of fat trout! Merlin’s mouth began to water at the mere thought of fish stew.

Stew…ever since a rider had come to Camelot with a cryptic message for Arthur, the whole court had been in rather a stew. “Your godmother Queen Dragonara and her two companions are in desperate need of your protection. In the name of Ygraine, I implore you, come to her aid. Grendel’s Forest, third oak from the right, exactly five leagues in.” The message had been written on the finest parchment, but the edged were slightly singed, suggesting the writer had been engaged in battle.

Who was this mysterious Dragonara? Neither Gaius nor Arthur had ever heard of the existence of a godmother… and who on earth gave directions like that anyway? Third oak from the right, five leagues in? The message carried no sender’s signature. It had to be a trap! Could the king’s evil half-sister Morgana be behind it?

Merlin was about to enter their camp, when laughter reached his ears. He grinned, when he thought he detected a familiar spluttering among the general uproar. It sounded just like Arthur emerging from his bath in the morning, grunting like a happy pig in anticipation of his breakfast. Merlin chuckled. No doubt Sir Percival had his work cut out trying to stop Gawain and Sir Elyan from holding Arthur’s head under water in a friendly wrestling competition.

The picture that greeted him when he peered out from behind the branches of a shrub was rather different from the idyll Merlin had expected to find. For a start, there were about twelve armour plated trolls that hadn’t been there before and Arthur was nowhere to be seen. Gawain had been hoisted up on a horse, where he lay helpless and prostrate across the saddle of a mounted troll. Sir Leon hadn’t fared much better, his hands holding his injured head from which blood was dripping through his fingers. Sir Percival was being held face down into the water by two trolls on either side of him; they let him briefly come up to catch his breath, before pushing him under again, presumably their idea of subduing the powerful knight. Chainmail, clothes and weapons were strewn across the camp. The horses were whinnying in terror, straining at their ropes, but the trolls held them fast and one whipped Sir Leon’s horse mercilessly, when it tried to make a run for it.

Only Sir Elyan was still standing at the water’s edge, a thick branch raised in defence. It was to no avail though, as the leader of the trolls struck him hard with a sword, knocking the branch out of Elyan’s hands. The troll took a couple of steps forward, apparently trying to say something, but Elyan hurled himself at the attacker and started pummelling him with his firsts. The troll merely laughed and shook the far smaller Elyan off like a bear would throw off a dog. Sir Elyan landed face down on the ground, the troll immediately stamping on the man’s arm, making a comeback impossible.

Where the hell was Arthur? From his position behind the shrub Merlin couldn’t make out what the troll was saying to Elyan, but before Merlin dared to get any closer, he caught sight of Arthur, hiding behind dense undergrowth on the far side of the camp. The king was gesturing wildly, clearly trying to send Merlin a message…but what was he trying to say? The king rolled his eyes angrily, shaking his fist at Merlin in frustration, his lips mouthing something vaguely familiar … pole something, was that it? Was he instructing his servant to strike the lead troll with a pole? What pole? 

Merlin concentrated hard on Arthur’s face…ah…no…you clot pole…you useless toad of a servant…fetch me my cloak and sword…Arthur shook his head in despair, as his servant ducked behind the shrub to hide from both the king’s and the troll leader’s view.

“Where’s your princeling? Speak or your arm will break,” growled the leader of the trolls and shifted his weight forward. Elyan writhed and howled with pain.

Meanwhile, Arthur kept pointing towards the ground between himself and Merlin. The young sorcerer’s eyes finally caught a glimpse of gleaming chainmail and a pair of brown breeches. Ah yes, being caught without weapons was one thing, but being taken prisoner with your trousers down was quite another. Especially for a king!

This had given him an idea. Merlin’s firewood slid silently to the ground and he edged closer to the garments, as stealthily as he could. His hands were just reaching out for the king’s chainmail and Excalibur, when one of the trolls discovered Merlin’s hiding place. The lead troll turned his attention immediately from the knights, who by now had been bundled up and thrown across the back of a horse, to the sorcerer in the shrubbery. There was just one thing for it! Merlin had kicked Excalibur into the undergrowth and hoisted the chainmail over his head before the lumbering troll could reach him. 

Stepping out from behind the shrub with one hand hidden behind his back, Merlin addressed the lead troll: “King Arthur, at your service! Have you come to share our crab dinner tonight? Funny, I don’t remember inviting you!”

With a growl the troll hurled himself at Merlin who, with one swift motion let go of the branch he had held behind his back. Stepping swiftly aside, Merlin let the branch go and it hit the troll leader full in the face. Stumbling backwards, the troll gave Merlin the opportunity he had hoped for and he made a dart across the camp, hurling himself onto the remaining weapons on the ground. He grabbed a sword and positioned himself in front of the lake in an effort to draw all eyes onto him.

Far from being impressed, the trolls just roared with laughter. Their leader rubbed his squat nose and furry forehead, shook himself a couple of times and then made for the centre of the camp. Merlin was no match for them, he knew that. Troll magic was far more powerful than his own, besides, with Arthur still watching from somewhere in the dense undergrowth, using sorcery was not a good idea.

“Yon princeling is brave, I give him that. But is he brave enough for what lies ahead? We’ll see!” Cackling unpleasantly, the lead troll lumbered towards Merlin, picked up the branch Sir Elyan had used earlier and struck Merlin’s sword with such force, the young sorcerer had no choice but to let go or his wrists would break.

A few minutes later the trolls made ready to leave the camp with their captives. One of them had collected all the knights’ weapons and belongings, stuffing everything into a huge sack, which he now carried over one shoulder. Pinned down into the saddle by the mighty paw of the lead troll behind him, Merlin risked a glance towards the undergrowth, where Arthur had been hiding only moments earlier. There was no sign of him now and Merlin’s only hope was that Arthur had found Excalibur and was now on his way to get help from Camelot. However, Merlin’s hopes were dashed, when he saw four trolls detach from the group and head for the path Arthur and the knights had taken earlier that evening. 

Merlin’s group of mounted captors headed into the opposite direction, but when Merlin cast one final glance towards the camp and the lake, he caught a flash of blonde hair and a princely backside quietly vanishing into the darkness of the forest. At least he’s safe, Merlin muttered, abandoning himself to his fate. There would be plenty of time during the ride to come up with an escape plan. He made himself as comfortable as the chainmail and smelly troll behind him would permit, settled into the slow gait of a horse carrying far too great a load and hoped he wouldn’t be sick.

***

Arthur smelled them before he actually saw them. The stench of their skins, the odour of rotten meat coming from their mouths and the sweat from their armpits made him want to retch. They were close, very close. He peeped out from his hiding place under the roots of an upturned tree. It was now or never! A troll with a patch of ginger fur on his forehead had already gestured towards Arthur’s fallen tree. 

The king jumped up, turned in mid-air and made for the opposite direction of his tree. Arthur ran as fast as his bare feet would permit up an incline, hurled himself down the other side, rolling over tree roots, sliding down on slimy leaves, finally jittering to a halt at the bottom of a water-filled ditch. He got up without stopping to check for injuries and jumped over a clump of ferns, narrowly avoiding a cluster of stinging nettles. He could hear but not see the angry trolls rushing up the slope, sliding down the other side and falling into the ditch with a splash. Their heavy armour plated bodies were not made for running, Arthur noted with satisfaction. 

Changing direction as fast as a hare, Arthur dived into a hollow tree. Looking out from behind his hiding place, he could feel his leg muscles seize up with the strain of running at such speed for such a distance. He dared not breathe, but his lungs were flapping against his sides and sweat was pouring down his forehead. He reviewed his options. On the plus side, he was much faster than they were, he had Excalibur and he was the superior warrior. On the down side, there were four of them, they were huge and he was exhausted…and butt naked.

They were searching the undergrowth far more methodically than he would have given them credit for; Arthur wished he’d had a chance to grab his cloak before one of the trolls had gathered up all the knight’s clothes. No point crying over spilt milk, he had to make due with whatever he’d find in the forest before he could return to Camelot. He felt behind him in the dark, warm hollow of the tree, the musky smell of rotting leaves strangely comforting to him.

A root of some sort was growing upwards inside the hollow. Arthur tore at it, hoping it wouldn’t make a noise when it broke and detached from the inside of the tree. It came away silently and smoothly though, his trained soldier’s hands examining it for its usefulness. It was supple and bent easily to his touch. Arthur grimaced. Strangulation was an unmanly way of doing away with an opponent. He had no choice. Sneaking out of his hiding place undetected, he circled around the group of trolls, picked up a pebble and threw it a distance of some yards into the opposite direction from where he crouched.

As expected, one of the trolls remained behind to continue searching the woodland, while the other three ran off to where they had heard the noise. Arthur launched himself onto the back of the lone troll the very moment his comrades had disappeared into the density of forest.

He wrapped the root around the troll’s thick neck and pulled hard. The troll’s rasping breath was filled with stench and spittle. Arthur recoiled for the fraction of a second, but rallied and now pulled even harder. The troll tried to throw his attacker off, but the root cut mercilessly into his grey skin and crushed his windpipe. Falling down onto his knees, the troll’s arms thrashed around helplessly, but Arthur pulled harder still. When his tormentor had tightened the noose as much as he could, the troll turned sideways and slid down to the ground, doubtless hoping to crush Arthur in the fall and throw him off that way. 

With one last effort the experienced warrior yanked the root into the opposite direction of the troll’s body until he heard the neck bones break. A couple of woodcocks flew up, startled by the deadly disturbance in their ferns, but no noise had escaped the troll’s throat and Arthur remained undetected. He returned to his hiding place in the hollow tree and waited.

When their comrade didn’t answer their calls, the three remaining trolls came back to look for him. Arthur watched them strut around the clearing, parting the surrounding clumps of ferns and nettles with their swords. Any moment now, they would discover the body. Arthur barely inhaled, not daring to make a sound. One down, three to go…much better odds though and he’d recovered his strength sufficiently to give them a demonstration of how much damage Excalibur could actually do.

Before there was a chance to demonstrate his skills as Camelot’s best swordsman, his keen hearing picked up the sound of a galloping horse. Merlin’s ruse hadn’t worked! The mounted trolls had changed course and were coming to get him. 

Two of the trolls were now so close to his hiding place, he could almost touch them. They were sniffing the air, trying to pick up his scent. The third troll stood still, listening intently to the clutter of hooves. Strangely, his squat face expressed alarm rather than joyful recognition.

Arthur realised his sweat might give him away any moment and quietly bent down to pick up rotting leaves to cover his own scent. He rubbed his face, chest and arms with the crumbling leaf mulch, wincing slightly when the mixture touched his open sores from his tumble down the slope earlier. The horses’ hooves were coming closer. Any second now, the riders would be here!

A horse whinnied. A second one answered. The three trolls were shouting something he couldn’t understand. The two standing closest to his hiding place turned and…fled!

Encouraged, Arthur stepped out of his hollow tree to get a closer look. He caught a glimpse of a purple and gold cloak, half obscured by trees and the furry backs of retreating trolls. A tall black horse and rider came crashing into the clearing. The knight was in full battle armour, his arm raised, his sword drawn, the shield carrying a crest Arthur had never seen before. Through the slits in the helmet Arthur could see two fierce eyes glittering. Two more riders appeared on the opposite side of the clearing. Cornered, the trolls turned and hurled themselves at the first rider and horse. Arthur’s warrior instinct told him the other two riders, who were far smaller than the first, were nothing more than young squires, but their swords were raised and they seemed ready to go to battle.

Without hesitation the purple and gold knight struck the first blow. It hit the first troll hard on the forehead and he fell to the ground with a nasty gash on his forehead. The rider wheeled the horse around for the second wave of attack, but his horse stumbled and the rider was thrown off. 

The two remaining trolls immediately lunged at the fallen knight. Arthur ran straight into the melee and came to the knight’s aid, slashing a troll arm in the process. Excalibur glinted in the failing light and the wounded troll howled with pain and rage. His comrade turned on Arthur, but the purple and gold knight sprang up, raising his sword. Back to back, Arthur and the stranger fought against the trolls, both working in unison, their sword arms dealing out precision blows in perfect harmony. The two squires kept their distance, leaving the far more experienced knights to do battle.

Finally, when the two trolls lay slain among the bloodied leaves, the stranger sheathed his sword once more, removed his gloves and stood motionless opposite Arthur for a while; both warriors studied each other with interest. The purple and gold embroidered cloak was slung back loosely, hanging rakishly over one shoulder. The helmet had its visor still down, no way of knowing what lay behind the metal grid. The chainmail was of the finest quality Arthur had ever seen, light and still strong, no doubt never hindering its wearer…not like Arthur’s chainmail, which chafed and lay heavy on his shoulders, irritating him every day; the breast plate and armour covering the stranger’s arms and legs were richly decorated, the boots made from beautifully worked black leather with silver spurs at the back.

Arthur and his counterpart were the same height, one warrior blue eyed, the other green eyed, one lissom and young, the other clearly older judging by his gait and the pigmentation of his hands…

Those hands…Arthur took a deep breath. Apart from the ring finger that clearly displayed a ring not dissimilar to the one Uther had worn before his death there was something else about the hands that was rather remarkable. They were slender and white…almost like…a woman’s!

The knight’s shoulders seemed to tremble a little…then the whole body began to shake with mirth. The knight was laughing! With a pang Arthur realised the stranger’s eyes were twinkling mischievously behind the visor. Looking swiftly over his shoulder to his right and to his left, Arthur assessed the situation. 

To his right stood a rhubarb type plant, large leaves prone to shift and sway in the wind. To his left he spotted a small pine tree, a trustworthy, far more static friend. Arthur stepped behind the miniature pine and cleared his throat: “I realise I’m not exactly wearing the right…erm…attire for a formal introduction, but perhaps you have the goodness to take off your helmet and tell me your name, so I can thank you?”

“No need to thank me, Damsel. It was…still is my pleasure,” the stranger chuckled and removed the offending helmet slowly. A mane of strawberry blonde hair tumbled out and a few seconds later Arthur looked his rescuer in the face. “My name’s Dragonara. I’m on my way to Camelot. You’re pretty handy with a sword!”

His godmother! She was smiling at him, her face slightly wet with perspiration from the fight, a strand of hair glued to her left cheek. Arthur bit his lip. 

She might be exactly who she claimed to be…on the other hand…if he told her his name and she was not who she said she was, he’d have walked straight into another trap. Temporarily rendered speechless, Arthur stood behind his pine tree and grinned from ear to ear to hide his embarrassment. Dragonara must take him for a simpleton. Why wouldn’t Merlin ever do as he was told? If only his idiot servant had handed him his cloak!

Dragonara was clearly amused by Arthur’s predicament. He couldn’t stay behind the pine tree forever. However, facing his godmother in his birthday suit was out of the question. Dragonara was not only a queen and therefore deserved respect - she was also rather beautiful and far younger than he had expected. She seemed barely forty, if the laughter lines around her eyes were anything to go by. Noting his gaze with approval, the woman smiled and released the pin holding her cloak.

“Here, have this. What’s your name?”

Arthur gratefully took the cloak and wrapped it around him, trying hard to come up with a name a peasant might use. To his own surprise he heard himself declare: “I’m Merlin, a servant at Camelot.” 

Irritated at his own lack of imagination, he bowed rather awkwardly and accidentally struck the right note between bashfulness and servility. “My master and his knights got attacked by the lake. We need to go after them, before they come to harm.” Arthur the servant gestured wildly with his sword towards the lake, before noticing Dragonara’s gaze had left his own comely countenance and was now eyeing Excalibur with considerable interest. Arthur quickly withdrew Excalibur under the cloak and fell silent.

“I’d love to help, alas, I cannot. My two companions are waiting by the great oak over there.” Dargonara pointed towards the two young squires in the background. “They are under my protection and I must get them to the safety of Camelot.”

She strode back to her horse, stepping lightly over the corpse of a slain troll, before turning back to face Arthur the servant. “Since you are for the moment master-less as it were, you can serve me, until we get to Camelot. Lead the way, Merlin!”

Arthur nodded helplessly. What else could he do? It was a long journey back to Camelot for a man wearing little else than leaf-mulch and a lady’s cloak. He had to join her and get help from his castle before he could rescue his men.

Dragonara mounted her horse and handed him her shield with her emblem. A golden dragon with green eyes stared at Arthur. For a brief moment, Arthur thought he saw one eye wink back at him! He shook his head in disbelief and held the shield further away from his face to get a better look.

“Pick up my gloves and helmet, boy. When we get to the oak, we might as well camp there for the night. We ride for Camelot at dawn.”

Arthur followed her reluctantly on foot; his feet were blistered, the woman’s cloak inadequately covered his scratched, sweaty, leaf-mulched body and to top it all, he had told her his name was MERLIN. Could things possibly get any worse? They could! Had he called himself Sir Elyan, he’d be riding with Dragonara now, instead of trailing behind her through the dust, where the horse’s rear had just farted.

Dragonara looked down and summed up her new servant quite accurately. He was the very picture of royal misery! “Don’t dawdle. I’m not as patient as your master! My chainmail needs cleaning, my armour needs polishing and there’s a heap of washing to do. Can’t arrive at Camelot looking like a troll, can I?”


	2. 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Having been captured by a troll patrol guard, Merlin and the knights get "acquainted" with their captors and their masters, three witches, at a mysterious castle in the forest; Arthur in the guise of his servant Merlin gets to "know" his forceful godmother Dragonara who turns out to be far more than he ever bargained for.

Examining her reflection in her looking glass, Yolanda braided her silver hair into two fat pigtails and sighed. Long ago, when her hair had shone like spun gold, her blonde tresses had caught the attention of a proud and handsome young man, a king no less. He’d offered to make her his queen, if she granted him a favour, but she’d refused him and he’d wreaked terrible revenge on her and her sisters, who had laughed at his advances, when Yolanda had turned him down. Frowning at the grey wreckage that was her face, Yolanda hurriedly pinched her cheeks, hoping a little red might revive her complexion enough to please tonight’s guests.

The evening air was hot and oppressive. She wished her chambers were on the northern side of the castle keep, where her sisters slept. Their rooms were cool and pleasant in summer, but bitterly cold in winter. Ever since the rest of their small castle had fallen into disrepair, they’d camped out in the castle keep as their last refuge. Yolanda longed for the days when her father had given sumptuous feasts in the main banqueting hall and young knights had queued up for a dance with her and her sisters. Their father’s pride and the sisters’ own conceitedness had cost them dearly, but maybe tonight, the curse would finally be lifted?

Fool of a girl! Tonight would be no different to all those other nights, when the sisters had hoped and prayed for a saviour. Undoubtedly, they were doomed to spend their days alone in this crumbling castle for all eternity. Yolanda hastily wiped a tear away that had stolen into the corner of her eye. Yolanda blamed such a display of weakness on the candle on the mantelpiece, which had started to gutter and smoke. Strange, there was clearly a draft coming from somewhere. Perhaps the wind was finally freshening, bringing cooler air with it at last?

She tied a ribbon round the end of each pigtail and looked around her untidy room. Several gowns lay strewn across the four-poster bed, shoes in various colours were scattered all over the floor. Yolanda was no longer familiar with the latest fashions and court etiquette, it had been too long since she and her sister had attended any feast following a royal invitation. She hoped she’d done her best and turned back for a final look into her mirror, where she surveyed the result of her daring wardrobe experiment with mild satisfaction. Yes, red was still very much her colour, even if the grey of her hair had replaced the blonde curls the proud king had so adored. She smiled; the embroidered belt around her ample waist looked actually very fetching. With a bit of luck the visiting knights wouldn’t notice her warts too much in the gloom of the hall! If only Ethelgunda and Marigold had remembered not to light any candles and had kept the fire burning low. Unlike her conceited sisters, Yolanda was fully aware, night was the sisters’ best friend, daylight their number one foe.

The distant clutter of hooves drew her over to the arrow slit that served as her window. She bent down and peered one-eyed through the narrow opening. It had to be the trolls returning from their mission, who else would visit their run-down abode at such an hour? She hurried out of her room to join her sisters in the hall.

Yolanda was in such a haste to skip down the stairs, she didn’t notice the wall-hanging opposite her door had grown feet. When Yolanda’s footsteps had died away, a hand covered in gold rings drew back the embroidered battle scene to reveal a secret doorway behind. A tall man stood in the shadows of this secret door, chuckling and mumbling to himself. In the stillness of the night he could hear the castle gate being opened somewhere below him and a group of riders entering the courtyard at speed. The man rummaged in a leather satchel hanging from his shoulder and produced a crystal, which he held up to the faint light coming through the open window. A beam of moonlight filtered through the crystal, which lit up instantly, a yellow glow illuminating the man’s face. The man’s mouth, ruby red and cruel against the blonde beard covering his chin and upper lip, mumbled incantations at the same time, but the man was forced to step swiftly through the trap door behind him, when he heard the trolls swarm into the castle keep, triumphantly cackling over their victory. The door closed tightly after the man, now resembling nothing but an innocent stone wall.

 

In the distance Merlin caught a glimpse of a faint light. The troll on the horse behind him grunted with satisfaction and…did Merlin detect a trace of glee? The lead troll’s grunt was answered with guttural approval from his fellow captors. Merlin wished he could turn his head around sufficiently to see how the other knights were doing, but shifting his weight was impossible, for the lead troll had pinned him down tightly into the saddle and, in any event, the bobbing up and down of the galloping horse had made Merlin feel rather sick. He didn’t trust himself to engage in any type of heroics. Arthur wouldn’t let his stomach dictate his fate, Merlin grumbled, knowing full well that for the moment he had no choice but to lie there motionless and wait.

The riders had left the dense forest and where now approaching a clearing, which led to a tree-lined road. Following this road for the length of forty heartbeats, the riders finally entered an overgrown, cobbled path; on either side someone had placed large white stones at regular intervals, clearly markers for horse and cart to stay on the path at night, for it was clearly the approach to some manor or sizeable dwelling. Peering into the darkness in front of him, Merlin finally saw the façade of a tower and walled fortifications rearing up. There were also what appeared to be ruins of flanking towers to the right and left of the castle keep.

A bridge spanning across a vast moat came into view. When they had reached the drawbridge, the lead troll stopped his horse and held up his mighty paw. The other riders behind him also stopped abruptly. An owl hooted somewhere in the distance, a call that was answered shortly by a second owl, then a third. The lead troll sniffed the air, temporarily letting go off Merlin’s back. With the great weight lifted, Merlin dared to take in a lung full of damp air. It revived him at first, but finally made him heave, when his nostrils sucked in the moat’s stench of rotting sheep and algae. Not one of Merlin’s favourite aromas at the best of times, but now even less welcome, when he felt so queasy after a long ride lying on his belly. On the saddle behind him, the lead troll growled in protest, when some of Merlin’s breakfast landed on the rider’s boot.

The castle keep lay silent and looked strangely unoccupied. There were no servants about; no dogs barked and no squires or guards came to open the gate. Instead, the lead troll let off a terrifying roar that sounded uncannily like Arthur discovering Merlin had spent the day in the tavern instead of preparing the king’s armour for the day’s joust.

The call was answered from somewhere beyond the keep’s massive walls and within moments the gigantic gate was opened. The riders and horses streamed into the courtyard, but there was no sign of guards or servants coming to greet them. Dismounting, the trolls each hoisted a prisoner on their shoulders and took their hostages into the castle keep’s silent interior.

Dangling off the lead troll’s shoulder and facing backwards, Merlin noticed the sorry state of the courtyard. It was covered in weeds and strewn with the wreckage of broken carts, rusty weapons and damaged shields as if a fierce battle had been fought, but was suddenly abandoned, when both defenders and foes, had mysteriously fled. Merlin spotted rows of silent crows sitting on the broad corbel running around the parapets and on the machicolation on the one defence tower that was still in reasonably good shape, he spotted several large bats hanging upside down, their wings stretched out and gently flapping in the evening breeze.

With a pang Merlin realised that no servants also meant no grooms to look after their horses’ welfare; the beasts were worn out from their long ride and the huge weight they’d had to carry. Looking back he saw Arthur’s horse, shivering and covered in sweat, lean against the castle keep’s well, clearly too exhausted to go any further. Would anyone tend to them that night or would they be left to fend for themselves? Merlin quietly summoned a trough of water and a sack full of oats without any of the trolls noticing the spell, just before the courtyard disappeared from Merlin’s view and the captors entered the castle keep with their knightly burden.

They crossed an inner guards’ chamber, went down a few steps, and turned left, before finally entering the hall, where a fire, but no candles had been lit.

The trolls divested themselves of their burden and dropped the knights and Merlin quite unceremoniously to the ground. When the knights’ protest cries and clamour had died down, the lead troll coughed, clearly trying to catch somebody’s attention. Someone stirred in an armchair by the hearth. A woman got up and Merlin, who struggled to rise thanks to the unfamiliar weight of the chainmail he was wearing, thought two more women were cowering in the darkness at the far end of the hall, but he couldn’t be sure owing to the gloom and smoke that filled hall.

“Bring me the princeling!” The woman by the chair commanded, pointing a finger at Merlin. The lead troll did as he was bid and grabbed Merlin by the scruff of the neck, dragging the young sorcerer to his feet. Behind him, Merlin could hear the other knights gasp. Merlin squinted into the dark and caught his breath.

On a rug in front of the fire, just by the side of the chair, lay a gigantic dog with two heads. Its four eyes were glowing red and sharp fangs were glistening in each snout. The beast emitted a full throated growl from twin mouths, which appeared to Merlin and his knights like a macabre echo, a prelude to having their own throats ripped out, but the woman merely bent down and patted the dog’s head affectionately. 

The troll holding Merlin firmly by the collar hurled him at the woman’s feet. Scrambling up as fast as the chainmail would allow him to get out of the dog’s reach, Merlin vowed silently never to mock Arthur again for whining about the state of his shoulders at the end of a joust, now Merlin knew how heavy the king’s armour actually was.

The woman came closer and positioned herself in front of Merlin, who recoiled a little when Ethelgunda’s warty face peered closely into his, so close that their noses met. Ethelgunda’s bad eyesight forced her to do a hands-on inspection of the young sorcerer’s face, her fingers travelling across his cheekbones, chin and forehead into his abundant dark hair. 

“He doesn’t look like the one we expected to see tonight. Unding, are you sure you’ve got the right man?” Ethelgunda rounded on the lead troll. Before the troll called Unding could answer, Ethelgunda had turned back to Merlin, her hand pulling his head closer to his. She squinted into his face. “Who are you boy, answer truthfully and I may spare you’re life!”

“Can’t you tell from the chainmail and crest? Obviously, I’m the king,” Merlin muttered, hoping Ethelgunda’s breath wouldn’t travel up his fragile nostrils, while at the same time trying to wriggle out from under her questing hands.

Ethelgunda merely snorted and began her examination of his person all over again. Without letting go of Merlin’s hair with her left hand, she lifted his chainmail with her right and investigated the contents of his back trouser pockets, where she discovered a squashed, half eaten sausage, Gaius’ ointment for travel sores and a sewing kit.

Howling, she hurled all three items across the hall and stamped her foot. Merlin threw her a pitying glance. Whatever her plans had been, they had obviously gone wrong. Ethelgunda turned on him abruptly. 

“For the last time, WHO ARE YOU?” She reached up and without warning gripped a strand of his hair and ripped it out. Merlin yelped with pain and was about to retaliate with a well-aimed kick in Ethelgunda’s direction, when a clout on the back from the troll’s paw instantly reminded Merlin of his diplomatic duties as a king.

“I’m A.R.T.H.U.R., King of Camelot! How’de’do?” Merlin bowed slightly, hoping his careful pronunciation and winning smile would keep the woman and her two-headed pet in a good mood, whatever her plans for the king. 

“A.R.T.H.U.R?” repeated Ethelgunda incredulously in exactly the same tone. ” Unding, you idiot, you brought me the wrong man!” Now it was Ethelgunda’s turn to clout someone. Unding received the blow like a man…or rather like  a troll, who’s used to being under a woman’s thumb, judging by the blood that was dripping from the troll’s nose and the resigned expression on his face.

“Zey were bazing in ze lake, juz like you zaid. Zis one claimed he’z a king. Won’t he do? I know, he’z a little zcarwny for a knight –“ Unding managed to lisp. He’d bitten his tongue, when Ethelgunda’s dainty knuckles had made contact with his chin.

“Hell and damnation! What did I tell you, before you left? Go to Lake Merthur and bring me Prince Urien and his knights! In what way does this one,” Ethelgunda punched Merlin’s stomach hard, temporarily winding him, “resemble a blonde, ruthless warrior with the reputation of being a ladies’ man? Are you colour-blind? He’s got dark hair and his hands are as soft as a girl’s! He’s never done a day’s work in his life, let alone been in a woman’s bedchamber by the blush on his cheeks!”

“L-l-looks can be d-deceiving,” Merlin stuttered. “I’m much stronger than I look! I…erm…get up early every day and help the knights to get fit. As for the ladies,” Merlin’s voice faltered for a moment, but he was spurred on by a loud snort coming from the rear of the hall, where the knights were clearly recovering much faster than he’d thought. “Well, there was this one time with King Uther’s bride-to-be, but it all came to nothing, because she turned out to be a…erm…troll! Uh, n-no offence intended,” Merlin stuttered, suddenly feeling his cheeks burn, when he caught sight of Unding’s damaged face and the dried vomit on his captor’s boot. 

“None taken,” said Unding generously. “Troll women can be rather challenging, even for the most experienced warrior,” he added sympathetically, still holding his bleeding nose between thumb and index finger.

Merlin hoped the knights hadn’t heard this last exchange. Fat chance! From somewhere behind him came a snigger. As if the mere reference to a woman’s bedchamber could possibly escape Gawain’s keen hearing! Merlin resigned himself to weeks of ribbing from Arthur’s knights and tried to concentrate on Ethelgunda’s warty chin instead.

“We’ll see soon enough, whether you really are of noble blood!” The woman cried, hurrying back to the hearth, where a large, black cauldron hung from a hook over a roaring fire. She threw the strand of hair into the cauldron and muttered an incantation. A sorceress! Merlin squared his shoulders in anticipation of whatever horrors her spell might unleash.

The liquid in the cauldron began to hiss and bubble. The woman threw another log on the fire and fanned the flames with her hands. Sparks flew up and one glowing ember landed on the two-headed dog, which let out a yelp of displeasure, rolled over and fled to the safety of the armchair to get away from the inferno. Smoke started to rise out of the cauldron and Ethelgunda began chanting her incantations again. With the troll’s attention otherwise engaged, Merlin risked a glance over this shoulder to see how the knights fared.

Only two of the trolls had remained in the hall to watch over them, apart from Unding, who remained at his mistress’ side. Sir Elyan’s hands and feet had been bound and he lay on the flagstones cursing, but otherwise fine. Sir Leon’s head was no longer bleeding but a long gash on his forehead showed he was far from fighting fit. Gawain seemed strangely silent until Merlin realised one of the trolls had stuffed a gag into the knight’s mouth. Despite their situation Merlin couldn’t help sympathizing with the troll who’d had a very long ride with a disgruntled, hungry Gawain. Sir Percival looked fine apart from being bound and shackled. Merlin sighed. Until they were alone and he’d find the right moment to free them, he was on his own. He’d have to deal with Ethelgunda’s magic, whatever it was, without any of his friends noticing.

At the rear of the hall, the other two women took courage and drew closer to the fire. Yolanda and Marigold joined their sister by the cauldron, each holding her breath at the spectacle unfolding in the pot. The brown liquid bubbled and squealed, hissed and spat until Ethelgunda seemed finally convinced the brew was ready. Ethelgunda handed a spoonful of the liquid to each sister. On the rug, the two-headed dog began to whimper so pitifully, Marigold picked up the ladle and filled a bowl to the brim with the liquid. The dog lapped it up immediately, but no change occurred.

“Funny, I could have sworn the stuff was ready,” Ethelgunda peered into the cauldron and gave it another stir.

“Perhaps it takes a while to work?” Yolanda said, casting a quizzical look into Merlin’s direction. “Unless he’s lying and there isn’t an ounce of nobility in the boy!”

“Nonsense, he’s the real deal! Oh, Ethelgunda! I feel all tingly and girlish! It’s working…you’ve done it…this time we’ll surely succeed!” Marigold clapped her hands delightedly. “I bags the one with the arms!” she cried and ran over to Sir Percival, who recoiled from her enthusiastic hug with as much gallantry as he could muster. “I must have him, Yolanda, he’s simply delicious!”

By way of a reply Yolanda held out her tankard and Ethelgunda grabbed a ladle so both sisters could drink their fill. Marigold skipped back to the hearth and snatched Yolanda’s full tankard out of her hand. Marigold drank deeply, the liquid running down her chin and throat, dribbling the brown liquid onto her velvet gown.

Yolanda licked her lips nervously. “Marigold, behave, there’s enough to go around for all of us. First we’ll drink, then the feasting shall begin! Ethelgunda, a refill, if you please. I must have more!”

“Don’t count your chickens, yet,” Merlin muttered and aimed a spell of his own into the direction of the hearth. “You might think twice about gobbling up my friends, when I’ve turned you into…-” Merlin didn’t get any further, for the cauldron exploded with a huge BANG. “Oops, that didn’t go exactly to plan!”

Smoke rose up from the hearth, where the cauldron and arm chair had been only moments before. Part of the ceiling came down with an ear shattering crash. The hall filled with dust and debris, a strange smell, like a mixture of horse manure and one of Gaius’ infamous gout remedies, began to emanate from the place where the cauldron had once hung over the fire. It was impossible to tell, where the three sisters were, there was so much smoke and dust, made worse by confusion among the trolls, running hither and tither, trying to find their mistresses in the ruins of the hall. Fires sprang up around the room and flames began to lick the ancient wall-hangings behind him by the entrance.

“Ah well, the place could do with a bit of redecorating,” Merlin sighed. He hurried back to his friends. “Quick, we must leave, before the trolls remember we’re here!”

Sir Elyan helped up Sir Leon and Percival was about to steer all of them into a dark hallway, when Merlin suddenly stopped. “Where’s Gawain?”

“I thought he was following you!” Sir Elyan said, peering back at the doorway they’d just escaped from. Merlin hurried back and stared into the hall.

Over the din of the fire and falling masonry, the yelling of the trolls and the terrifying howling of the dog, Merlin could hear the three sisters screeching. He saw one of them, he assumed it was the tall Ethelgunda, push a figure in front of her through the rubble. It was the bound and gagged Gawain!

“Merlin, we’ll have to rescue him later, now we must get out of here, while we still have a chance!” Percival grabbed Merlin by the arm and drew him down a dark corridor and up a flight of stairs. At the top of the stairs they were stopped dead in their tracks by a horrifying scream from below.

“Those harpies are going to cook him, I know it!” Elyan shuddered. Merlin’s eyes were wide with fear.

Sir Leon managed a weak smile. “Don’t worry, Merlin. Gawain without a gag in his mouth is a lot less appetising.”

“Not sure who I feel more sorry for, Gawain or the witches,” Sir Percival grimaced. “Gawain’s socks could knock out a giant. Just think what his feet could do to a broth!”

Merlin sighed. “True, he’s a lot tougher than he looks. We’ll have to find a safe hiding place until the morning. Our horses are too exhausted, they cannot help us now. I guess Gawain will keep until we’re ready to leave, let’s go!”

 

Meanwhile…on the other side of the forest, towards Camelot…

 

“It’s…erm…a bit of a tight fit, but otherwise quite fetching,” Dragonara finally managed to say. Her two companions were still in fits of laughter. “My physician’s son Eliffer’s admittedly a slighter build than you, but at least you won’t catch cold tonight, will you, Merlin?”

Eliffer, a boy of about 15 or 16 years of age, chuckled and busied himself with the horses. Strangely, the other squire was still in full knight’s armour, wearing chainmail and helmet, making no attempt at removing the heavy burden. Dragonara had not introduced the other boy, making Arthur even more determined to get to know his travelling companions.

“And have I got you to thank for this…um…shirt?” Arthur addressed the mysterious squire, pointing to the rather flowery blouse the King of Camelot had been forced to accept if he wanted to cover his nakedness. The question merely served to ignite another bout of laughter until Dragonara handed him their only catch of the day. Arthur resigned himself to the unfamiliar task in hand. Cooking!

He squatted down on the floor in his far too short hose and attempted to skin a rabbit, albeit without much success, as the bloodied animal kept slipping from his grasp, landing with a loud bang in the pot every time he tried to pull the rabbit’s fur over its head.

“I’ll be dammed if I yield to a rabbit!” Arthur the servant growled and reclaimed the body to try again. This time he met with more success. The hide came off in more or less one piece and the bunny was ready for a pot roast. Having never actually prepared a meal before, Arthur scratched his head, wondering what the real Merlin would do. Eventually he decided a few onions and parsnips couldn’t hurt and threw the vegetables into the pot to keep the bunny company. 

“Merlin, when you’ve quite finished playing with your rabbit, go and fetch some wild herbs from that little brook we saw yonder. I fancy salad with our stew tonight.” Dragonara yawned, stretching her arms and legs as gracefully as a cat, before sitting down on a blanket by the fire, a fire for which Arthur the servant had gathered firewood and had been rewarded for his efforts with nothing more than a painful splinter in his thumb and a burn on his wrist.

The thought of salad with his dinner served to darken Arthur’s mood only further and he staggered off into the night holding his torch as high as possible to avoid falling into the brook. He had no idea what eatable herbs looked like but remembered his court physician Gaius boring him rigid with frequent requests for more herbs to be stocked in the castle’s own infirmary. If a dollop-head like Merlin could tell herbs from weeds, how hard could it be?

Trotting through the dark forest, bending down in his creaking hose to pick what he hoped might turn out to be suitable herbs, Arthur reviewed his situation. On the plus side: he still had Excalibur, he was on his way to Camelot to fetch help and Dragonara was handy with a sword in the event of another troll attack. 

On the down side: he had no idea, if she really was who she claimed to be and might be walking into a trap; they were still a long way off Camelot, which meant his knights and Merlin would be forced to spend the night in a dungeon or worse. Arthur snorted. Never mind their discomfort - what about his own? The hose was pinching his royal bottom something terrible and the prospect of salad with his rabbit stew was enough to make him retch. Herb salad indeed! Dragonara was a slave driver. He’d never treat his servants with such disdain! 

Arthur viciously kicked a clump of dandelion and nettles, wondering what kind of salad they might make. Admittedly, Dragonara was a superb swordswoman, but how could anyone nibbling green leaves like a blasted rabbit possibly be a godmother of his? As if in response, the nettles rose and clouted him over the head. Arthur staggered back and drew Excalibur with haste. Rearing up in front of him, a tall blonde knight with piercing eyes and several men under his command, charged towards the king. Slashing and swishing his sword and torch back and forth, Arthur tried to get some distance between him and the advancing knights. Two of the attackers had disguised their helmets with twigs and fern, explaining why Arthur hadn’t spotted them any sooner. The knock on the head had temporarily rendered him disoriented. No matter how hard Arthur fought, the attackers kept coming and the blows got harder to block. Tired after his earlier battle with the trolls, Arthur soon found to his disgust he was surrounded.

“Do you yield? I have no quarrel with you, boy. Just tell us where to find the Lady Dragonara and I, Prince Urien, will allow you to go in peace!” The young knight sheathed his sword and took a step backwards to allow Arthur to do the same.

Rattled at being called a boy by this princeling, who looked a couple of years younger than Arthur himself, he was in no mood to be let go peacefully. “How very gracious of you!” Arthur dropped his torch on the ground, narrowly missing Urien’s foot. The princeling was forced to retreat another couple of steps with haste. “What do you want with the lady, squire Urien?”

Strangely, Arthur’s demeanour prompted Urien to be truthful. He cleared his throat decisively. “My father is King Leofwine and the lady is my step-mother, to be precise. She travels with her daughter Eleanor and a young boy, the son of our court physician,” Prince Urien said. “The King requires her to return to the realm of Dunadd urgently.”

“Why would a queen travel abroad, unprotected and accompanied by nothing more than a girl and boy?” Arthur challenged, lowering Excalibur reluctantly.

“What’s it to you why I seek my quarry? Still, as you seem to have appointed yourself her protector…the lady Dragonara is…erm…given to such ill-advised expeditions. For the lady’s and my sister’s safety, tell me what I need to know! Where are they?” Urien commanded, his hand surreptitiously travelling back to the hilt of his sword.

“When the Queen has done what she came to accomplish, she will no doubt be eager to return to Leofwine and her realm. Until then, she will be under the protection of Camelot.” Arthur glared at Urien, who seemed amused, rather than alarmed by the challenge. 

“You carry a princely sword for a mere servant! Are you a favoured squire of some sort that you should speak with such authority on your overlord’s behalf, whose courtly fashion, if you don’t mind me saying so, leaves a lot to be desired?” Urien and his men laughed, noticing for the first time Arthur’s attire and leaf-mulched hair.

Temporarily confused by the question, Arthur hesitated. “I’m…Merlin, the king’s…most trusted advisor. An earlier troll attack while I was bathing left me bereft of…erm…my usual dress. My liege will be happy to receive Queen Dragonara and her charges at his court and when she’s ready to return, he’ll happily escort her back himself, on that you have my word.”

Into this temporary stalemate walked the lady herself, sword drawn, eyes blazing. There was no sign of her companions who, Arthur guessed, had been told to remain in hiding.

“You’ve heard the king’s servant! Now be off with you, boy! Don’t meddle in things that you do not understand.” Dragonara took up position next to Arthur, pointing her sword at her step-son and his men.

“My lady Dragonara!” Urien bowed deep, albeit with an air of mockery, Arthur thought. Urien straightened up and stared at the space behind his step-mother, as if he’d hoped to see somebody else appear. “Marauding trolls were spotted by one of my look-outs earlier, when my men and I cooled off by the lake. I was worried about your welfare, my lady; I’m gratified to see you didn’t come to any harm.”

“As you can see, I’m hale and still none the wiser of what you are doing here, Urien!”

“Providing you with safe passage home, on the orders of your loving king!”

“Then you’ve had a wasted journey! Turn back, for I shan’t set foot in your father’s court again!” Dragonara hissed, her hand raising her sword to level with Urien’s throat.

Urien in reply drew his sword once more, his men close at his heel. “Then stay away, you ungrateful wretch, but allow Princess Eleanor to return to her rightful place!”

“I have no idea what you’re talking about! Isn’t Eleanor at home with your king?” Dragonara’s face registered nothing but surprise and Urien’s sword dropped a little. Arthur decided it was time to intervene.

“Look, I hate to intrude on anyone’s family feud, but there’s rabbit stew back in the camp spoiling over the fire. If it’s all the same to you, perhaps you could settle your differences over a meal?” Arthur held up his injured thumb to the torch light. “The matter of the lady’s travel arrangements can surely wait until the morning. I for one have had an awfully long day.” 

Urien sheathed his sword. His men visibly relaxed. “Wise words indeed! Lead the way, boy, for my men and I haven’t had anything to eat since daybreak and I’d rather discuss the lady’s return to King Leofwine’s realm with a full belly than an empty one.”

By way of a reply Arthur yawned luxuriously and picked up his torch, pointing into the direction of Dragonara’s camp. He watched the lady’s face closely as he did so, but read nothing but surprise in her features. Arthur guessed correctly that, although blustering and arrogant, Urien represented no real threat to her. Arthur wondered why Urien had pointedly avoided addressing Dragonara as his queen; however, the lady herself made no reference to it and followed both men demurely, suddenly without any of her previous grandeur.

Temporarily disarmed by Arthur the servant’s whining voice, Urien and his men asked no further questions until they had reached the camp. Arthur noted with astonishment the mysterious squire had vanished, only the boy Eliffer had remained with the lady’s horses. Urien and his men looked hither and tither in the undergrowth surrounding the camp, but there was no sign of another person, even the third horse had gone without leaving any tracks. Arthur saw with satisfaction Urien was beside himself with suppressed rage, but masked it with polite disdain for the shabbiness of the camp.

Certain that whatever Urien’s hunting party was really after, he’d find out soon enough and would do so far better on a full stomach,  Arthur fell upon the rabbit stew, before remembering his temporary role as a servant. Reluctantly, he dished out the stew, which to his astonishment had turned out far better than expected, apart from a slight furry aftertaste and toughness of the vegetables. Arthur wondered if Merlin usually peeled them before adding them to the pot, since his servant’s stews were always melt-in-the-mouth delicious.  Resolving to ask Queen Guinevere discretely about the etiquette of stew making, Arthur was about to settle down for a well-earned rest, when Dragonara kicked him awake and told him to clean the dishes and get more firewood, which he did reluctantly at first, until he realised the lady’s firm hand on his shoulder was steering him into a particular direction of the forest. 

Arthur hadn’t gone thirty feet into the darkness, when he heard a hoof scratch in the dirt. He extinguished his torch to avoid giving away his position and walked towards the noise. Under the low-hanging branches of a willow tree, Arthur spotted the shadow of the mysterious squire. The veil began to lift gradually, when Arthur approached the tree and saw the squire’s face by moonlight. The squire had transformed into a handsome maiden, not dissimilar to Dragonara’s own colouring. Eleanor had tied her long tresses with a scarf and wore a long woollen tunic with a shift underneath and a leather jerkin to keep out the cold. Upon seeing Arthur, the girl lifted her index finger to her lips and motioned him to be quiet. They were cowering under the tree, drawing deeper into the shadow of the branches, when the girl pointed to the right of Arthur. 

One of Urien’s knights had followed him. Arthur caught his breath. The man was built like a bear, with impressive biceps and the neck of an ox. He drew closer but, just when Arthur thought the man had spotted them, he drew off into the opposite direction. The girl heaved a sigh of relief and leant against Arthur’s chest, prompting the king to briefly relapse into bachelorhood with a shiver of pleasure, when he felt the warm contours of her body through his thin shirt. It was definitely the nicest thing that had happened to him on that very long day! 

Before he’d had a chance to get too comfortable, the girl had raised her head to his height and whispered into his ear: “Tell Mother, I’ll wait by the lake. Merlin, try not to spoil my best blouse and look after Eliffer for me!” Then she kissed his cheek and vanished into the night, without giving Arthur a chance to object to such a risky undertaking. It was too late to stop her. Even the girl’s horse seemed to have melted into the forest without a trace. Absentmindedly, he raised his hand to his cheek, where only moments ago the girl’s warm lips had been. He tried to remember the scent of her hair, but could not. Come to think of it, he couldn’t recall his wife’s scent either! It was high time to bring this quest to an end!

“Aren’t godmothers supposed to bring blessings, silver pennies and warm socks? This one’s giving me nothing but trouble and palpitations!” Gathering up as much firewood as he could, Arthur stumbled back to the camp and did a quick survey of those present around the fire: the hulk with the impressive arms had not returned, yet.

When everybody was settled again and the fire was burning brightly, the boy Eliffer begged Dragonara to tell them a tale. She smiled, brushed back her red-blonde hair and picked up a smouldering branch lying at the edge of the fire. Holding it up into the light, Dragonara blew gently on the flames and to Arthur’s amazement, a tiny horse and rider appeared from the flames. The delighted boy clapped his hands at the sight of the fire-knight who held up his lance proudly as he galloped through the air. Arthur stared from the lady to the spectacle and back again. 

His godmother was a sorceress!


	3. 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> While Arthur and his godmother Dragonara try to find out what fate has befallen his knights, Merlin and the knights are trying to make their escape from the enchanted castle, but first they must rescue Gawain who has got himself into a right pickle with one of the witches.

Dragonara raised the burning branch and blew once more. A second knight appeared and the tiny, glowing riders instantly engaged in a joust. Arthur held his breath, as Dragonara began her tale.

“In a distant realm, there once lived a king, cruel and heartless, the world around him trembled and most of his people fled. He had not always been so, for when he was young, his lands prospered and his lady wife gave him all the happiness he craved. But when their union was not blessed with a child, the king became obsessed with producing an heir,” Dragonara said softly, not looking at anyone in particular. Arthur felt the hair on the back of his head tingle, as if the story was purely meant for him. Urien and his men continued to stare out into the silent mass of the trees. Their comrade was still missing.

“In the end the king turned to sorcery to bring the desired child into their midst. No ordinary child, no, the king demanded the bravest of the brave, a champion for his people, a future leader to unite all the lands, a ruler to become legend for generations to come. The king was warned such a child would cost the realm dearly, for the rules of magic demanded a life for a life. Was the king really willing to make such a sacrifice? Blind to everything but his own lust for power, the king entered into the bargain, the child was born and the king lost a most beloved queen.” With a sad face Dragonara dropped the burning branch back into the fire and leaned back into her saddle and blanket, seemingly no longer concerned whether her audience listened or not. Arthur shifted uncomfortably in his seat. The jousting flame-knights rode back and forth through the air, Eliffer’s round eyes following their every move.

Dragonara cleared her throat, lifting a tankard of water to her lips. “A life for a life! That was the price for the miracle child! Whose life had the king been willing to sacrifice? We’ll probably never know. Certainly not his own! After the death of the queen, the king became bitter, he turned against the world. Blaming the child for the mother’s death, he had little affection for his magical offspring, but merely valued the child as his heir.”

Urien who, to Arthur’s surprise, looked just as uncomfortable as the King of Camelot did himself stared silently into the fire. Eliffer’s blue eyes followed the tiny flame-knights and horses sailing up into the night sky. “What became of the child?” Eliffer whispered. 

Arthur’s gaze turned back to Dragonara’s face, but the lady simply laughed and looked around the camp’s sleepy occupants. “It’s late; you’ll have to wait and see how the story turns out when we get to Camelot.”

Arthur avoided Dragonara’s searching eyes and busied himself with polishing her armour instead. Urien and his men were about to settle down into their blankets for the night, when their bulky comrade returned and whispered something into Urien’s ear. Arthur watched them closely, when they settled down for the night. One by one, Urien and his men appeared to fall asleep, apart from a couple of look-outs protecting the camp. On the other side of the fire, Eliffer’s chin dropped and his head lolled back. Dragonara settled him gently into a sleeping position and covered him with a blanket. Arthur raised an eyebrow. She was no longer the proud queen, but a gentle mother, full of concern. Not exactly matching the picture Arthur had of sorcerers who, according to his father were, without exception, evil and cruel.

When Arthur believed it to be safe, he crept closer to Dragonara and hurriedly gave her Eleanor’s message. She frowned, cursing under her breath. “Silly girl! We must rest; the horses are exhausted and cannot carry all three of us to Camelot. By the way, where are Urien’s beasts?”

“Good question! None came with them tonight. I saw no tracks by the lake earlier today,” Arthur whispered into her ear; a delicate wisp of red-gold hair was lifted by the king’s breath. His godmother smelled of rose petals and her cheek felt warm against his. Arthur inhaled deeply, savouring the scent for a second, before hurriedly continuing his report with burning ears. “There were twelve trolls; surely they’d have spotted riders leaving the lake before we arrived to have our bath!”

“My thoughts exactly,” Dragonara nodded approvingly. “Urien’s up to something, but what? If he wasn’t in league with the trolls, then where did they come from and what did they want with you and your men? He must keep his beasts hidden somewhere…perhaps with even more of his guards?”

With a pang Arthur realised Dragonara’s inference “you and your men” suggested she didn’t believe him to be a servant any more than he believed in Urien’s concern for her safe return to Leofwine’s realm.

“May I ask why you are travelling to Camelot?” Arthur feigned complete ignorance. When he saw the lady’s eyebrows rise, he quickly added: “Erm...why not go to King Odin’s court, it’s much closer...and practicing magic’s not forbidden there?”

“Your master didn’t tell you? I’m Arthur’s godmother; shouldn’t that guarantee me a welcome and a bed for the night?”

Arthur was amazed at how blithely Dragonara glossed over his warning about sorcery at Camelot. “His godmother? Were you a friend of his father, King Uther? I don’t recall him ever mentioning you.”

“That’s hardly surprising, given your position at court!” Dragonara grinned. “The Uther I remember wasn’t given to passing the time with his servants!”

“Of course not, I just meant, if Uther had, then my master would have mentioned it to me...your visit, naturally, would mean a great deal to him. Did you send word of your arrival?”

“Merlin, why do you think your master dragged you out into the forest when he should be at home with his bride? Of course I did, you toad-headed fool!”

Swallowing his pride and the urge to give her piece of his mind, Arthur hurried to press the lady further, before she clammed up again and rose to leave. “No wonder we didn’t stop to hunt for our supper! So Arthur’s expecting his father’s friend to arrive at a meeting point nearby?”

“We were to meet by the oak where I’d left my companions earlier today. I shan’t deceive you, boy. Uther was no favourite of mine. It was Ygraine, who was my dearest friend.” Without noticing Arthur’s sharp intake of breath, Dragonara began packing a few things into her saddle bags. “We only need a few days’ rest, which Arthur surely won’t begrudge us. Eleanor and I have somewhere to go to. Camelot’s physician Gaius is famous throughout the lands. I wish for Eliffer to stay at Camelot and learn from the great man. I haven’t the heart to wake the lad. Merlin, carry Eliffer to his horse!”

Arthur nodded resignedly and suppressed a yawn. As quietly as possible Arthur deposited the sleeping boy on one of the saddles, secured him with rope and they stole out of the camp. Looking back over his shoulder, Arthur saw the large knight twitch in his sleep, but Urien and the rest of the men didn’t stir. Carefully avoiding the two look-outs Urien had left, Dragonara and Arthur searched for the path leading back to the lake.

 ***

Gawain awoke with a start. He was drowsy after what appeared to have been a very long sleep. Dawn was already peeping through the half-open window. To his surprise he found himself deposited in the soft pillows of a four-poster bed. Gawain looked around the spacious room. Although comfortably furnished, everything looked a little shabby and run down. The once richly decorated wall-hangings in hues of green, gold and red matched the hangings on the bed, but the colours were faded by sunlight and age, the fabric covered in dust and rather moth-eaten in places. Despite the heat of summer, somebody had lit a fire in the bedchamber, causing Gawain to break out in a sweat. 

Mopping his forehead with the back of his hand, Gawain tried to recall what had happened the night before, but his head seemed to be filled with sheep’s wool and gave up resignedly. He shook his head in an attempt to clear his vision and kick-start his memory. The last thing he remembered was being pushed down a flight of stairs by a couple of trolls. They had bundled him into a cell in the dungeons and tied him to a chair. 

He tried to get up, but found his legs wouldn’t obey him. With a supreme effort he managed to climb out of bed and staggered over to the window. He pushed it open and the fresh air revived him. He looked down at himself and realised he was wearing a night shirt instead of his own clothes...hadn’t he been dressed in a red, green and gold tunic with a splendid cloak last night?

Memories began drifting back to him. There’d been a fire, a loud bang and the hearth had exploded. After that...nothing but fog...Gawain groaned and shook his head once more. An image started to emerge out of the fog. When the haze began to clear, his stomach nearly turned. A vision of three ugly crones with a hideous dog reared up in his mind. One of the weird sisters, a fat one in a food-stained dress, had fondled his cheeks and had tried to kiss him repeatedly.

“Eurgh! There isn’t enough ale in the world to make me fancy her!” Gawain buried his face in his hands.

The thought of drink made him only more determined to get out of the chamber. His throat was aching for refreshment...a tankard of ale to wash away the strange taste in his mouth. He stuck his head out of the window once more and took a deep breath. With a much clearer mind Gawain surveyed the forest below which stretched as far as the horizon. He was being held prisoner in the highest part of the castle, one of the flanking towers, not in the castle keep. For a moment he contemplated climbing down the tower’s curtain, but it seemed a recipe for breaking one’s neck and when he crossed through the small antechamber and rattled on the door handle, there was apparently no way out either in the conventional way.

The main door, a carved oak affair, was far too strong for him to break down by himself. Another doorway led into a chamber clearly being used as a dressing room. Robes and women’s shoes lay strewn across the floor. Rifling through the mess Gawain finally recognised his own trousers and snatched them up gratefully. For some reason his legs still wouldn’t obey him properly, but after falling over twice he finally managed to stick his legs through the trouser legs. All he needed now was his shirt and boots!

On an oak table standing next to an ivory chest Gawain discovered a flagon of wine and he helped himself to a liberal draught. He cursed his trembling hands holding the carafe and tried to regain control over his limbs. Fortunately, the sweetness of the wine took away the peculiar taste in his mouth and with it memories flooded back. The three harpies had forced him to drink something that had tasted foul...then somebody had dressed him in a rich man’s robes. Gawain took another swig of wine and remembered being led to a great hall, where three comely maidens, one tall and commanding with a sparkling crown, one blessed with great beauty and golden tresses, one dark with sparkling eyes and raven hair, had waited for him. The tables had been dressed as if for a banquet, candles had flickered in candelabras and sconces had been lit along the walls. The air had been filled with the aroma of freshly baked bread, roasted capon, succulent pheasants and spiced wine.

“That must have been quite some feast last night! I’m on the last whole of my belt!” Gawain patted his belly, which unaccountably seemed far hairier than he recalled.

The sweet, high notes of a flute came drifting back to him. He felt a slight panic set in when a picture of a singing troll with a harp rose up before his mind’s eye. Surely Gawain’s memory was playing tricks on him? When he saw himself dancing with one of the maidens...ruby red lips and eyes so blue a man could happily drown in them. An involuntary squeal escaped Gawain’s lips and he hurriedly ransacked his prison for anything that might serve as a weapon.

“Uh, uh, knowing my luck, there’ll be an outraged father or brother waiting instead of breakfast and a cheerful farewell!” Continuing to hunt for the remainder of his belongings, Gawain crawled into carved chests, stood on a chair to try the top of a wardrobe and finally returned to the bed. He slumped down and took stock of his situation. 

There was no way down out of the window and no escape through the door. Even if there had been, he didn’t fancy making the long journey back to Camelot barefoot, wearing nothing but a nightshirt and his trousers, which seemed intent on pinching him. He undid his belt and inhaled deeply, his belly flopping over his trousers to his dismay. Gawain slapped his forehead with some force. Camelot! For the first time he’d remembered his travel companions! Arthur...Merlin...Elyan...how could he possibly have forgotten them? They might be in trouble...Gawain snorted. Naturally! Arthur was always in some sort of trouble and Merlin was never far behind.

Gawain had to get out of this chamber, no matter what! He lifted the pillows beside him in the vain hope of finding at least his dagger, but there was nothing. The blankets and rich covers beside him seemed rather bulky, perhaps his chainmail, sword and clothes were underneath? Looking at the pile of sheets, pillows and blankets more closely for the first time, he noticed the vague outline of a figure. Gawain took a deep breath and prodded the sheets. No answer. He ran his hands softly down the outline. The body felt warm and small; at least he hadn’t woken up next to a troll! Picking up a heavy book from the bedside cabinet with his right, he withdrew the sheets abruptly with his left, ready to strike a blow to whatever was lurking under the bedclothes. To his surprise he had uncovered a buxom girl, sleeping soundly. He stared at the blonde, whose long tresses covered her face. Her head was turned to the wall. Was she the dancing beauty with the ruby lips? Gawain bent over her, the heavy book still in his hand. The girl didn’t move and he dared to lean closer still. Gently, his fingers removed each tendril of hair covering her face, eager to free the rose-blossomed cheeks of this maiden. Her tresses smelled of lavender and primroses, her slender limbs stirred at his touch. The girl sighed, lifting one sleepy arm to clasp him to her chest.

Gawain tried to gently extricate himself from her embrace, but when he attempted to remove her arm, it turned into a vice-like grip around his neck. “My, you’re pretty strong for one so delicate!”

The beauty giggled drowsily and lifted her head to nuzzle his stubbly chin. “You rather liked that last night, if I recall. What’s the matter, did I wear you out with my charms?”

 “I really hate to wake you, my snoring beauty, but I must be on my way. Where are my clothes and weapons?” Gawain shook her gently by the shoulders, but she wouldn’t let go. Finally, he slapped her wrists with the book and she let reluctantly released his neck. “Never let it be said, reading doesn’t educate! Tell me Blondie, how do we get out of here?”

“Trust me, there’s no escape! You might as well come back to bed.” The girl grunted, reaching down to recover the sheets and continue her sleep. 

“I hate to disappoint you, Sleepy Head, but I’ve got places to be.” Gawain tried to prod her awake more forcefully now. “Did those three ugly sisters lock us in here? If only I had my sword, I’d soon teach those harpies some manners. This is no way to treat a knight!”

“And it’s no way to treat a lady either. Harpies indeed! Last night you called me your little cherry blossom. Now you’ve had your fun, you can’t wait to be on your way.” The girl began sobbing into her pillow. “Take a good look at yourself, Knight, and tell me if we’re not perfectly matched!”

Through the mullioned window the first rays of sun streamed into the chamber and kissed the outline of the sleeper in the bed. Gawain rubbed his eyes. Had her rosy skin begun to change colour? Was her hair turning...grey? His eyes travelled around the chamber but what he expected to see was evidently missing. No mirror...in a lady’s bed chamber? 

His sluggish mind tried to work out the implications. He simply had to clear his head! He jumped up but his legs wouldn’t carry him and he fell down on the moth eaten rug in front of the bed. Crawling on all fours, Gawain eventually reached the smaller chamber and the washstand. He pulled himself up and poured water from a pitcher into an earthenware bowl. Taking a deep breath, he plunged his head into the cold water and came up spluttering and coughing. He stared hard into the bowl, water running down his hair and nose. The surface began to settle. Disbelieving his own eyes, Gawain recoiled from his reflection in the bowl.

“You’ve got to be kidding me! AAAAAAAAAARRRRRRGGGGHHHH!”

He staggered back into the bedchamber, where the girl sat up in the four-poster bed, her arms crossed above her chest. “Serves you right, you shouldn’t have been so mean to me!” 

“AAAAAAAARRRRRRGGGGGGHHHHH!” Gawain rushed towards her with outstretched arms, the pitcher in his hand, ready to smash it over her head.

She aimed a pillow at Gawain. “Don’t even think about getting back into bed! Eurgh, there’s not enough ale in the world to make me fancy you looking like that!” 

 ***

“Did you hear that scream? They’re torturing Gawain!” Sir Leon’s face had turned pale. “We must find a way to get up that tower. Can’t we create some diversion to draw those guard trolls away from the entrance?”

Sir Percival lifted up his shackled wrists. “If Merlin can find a cure for these, you can count me in.”

At the mention of his name Merlin looked up distractedly. He was trying to bend a nail into the right shape to undo Percival’s chains, so far without success. “Look, one of the trolls has nodded off; perhaps the other will, too?” The knights’ heads turned back towards the courtyard instantly and Merlin’s attempt to divert his companions’ attention had succeeded. He cast a hurried spell, finally curling the nail into the required shape. The lock on Percival’s shackles sprang open and the knight was free. 

The friends stole across the courtyard, using the shadows under the buttress to mask their approach. The sleepy trolls were soon dispatched with a left hook by Percival and a clout on the head from Sir Elyan. The friends hurried up the spiral staircase, careful not to make a sound. At the top of the stairs they reached an impregnable oak door. Percival glued his ear to the door. No sound came from the interior.

“It’s got to be the right place, what do you think?” Merlin whispered.

“Of course it’s the right place!” Sir Leon snapped. “What else would those infernal trolls be guarding behind such a heavy door, if not Gawain?” 

“A loaf of bread and a hunk of cheese?” Elyan sympathised. Lack of sleep and an empty stomach weren’t exactly a recipe for early morning cheerfulness. 

Sir Leon pushed his way past Merlin and took up position next to Percival. “Together we might be able to break it down. If only we had something to use as a battering ram.” Sir Leon turned to search for a useful implement and his gaze fell on Merlin, standing idly at the top of the stairs.

“Don’t even think about it! I like Gawain, but there’s a limit to my loyalty!” Merlin hurriedly took a step back, nearly tumbling down the staircase. Sir Leon grinned and took up searching in a small chamber to their right instead. 

Hoping for another distraction so he could magically open the door, Merlin peered through one of the arrow slits in the tower’s curtain and found he was in luck. He discovered two small figures hovering by the drawbridge, one of them seemed familiar, despite his peculiar attire. Uttering an exclamation, Merlin hopped up and down excitedly, attracting everyone’s attention. Sir Leon poked his head out of the little chamber to see what the commotion was about.

“Look, it’s Arthur!” Merlin grabbed Sir Leon’s arm and drew him over to the opening. Percival and Elyan hurried to their side to watch their king walk down the embankment and enter the moat.

“What does he think he’s doing? He’s going to get himself killed!” Elyan peered through the arrow slit, frowning in disbelief. Sir Leon nudged him out of the way to get a better look.

“Is the twilight playing tricks on me or is Arthur wearing a girl’s blouse?” Sir Leon squinted into the early morning sun with tired eyes. Behind the knights, Merlin aimed a spell at the door and the lock cracked with a soft POP. Everyone turned round instantly to the source of the sound, but at that very moment the air was shattered by another terrible cry from the chamber beyond the oak door.

“NOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO! No more, I beg you, PLEASE!” A loud bang followed that sounded as if somebody had fallen over and they heard a muffled squeak and fighting.

“That was Gawain! Let’s get the poor fellow out of there!” Percival tried to rip the door off its hinges, when in the courtyard below them the portcullis was lifted, the rusty chains screeching in protest. 

Merlin spied through the arrow slit again. A group of trolls streamed out of the open gate onto the drawbridge, unleashing a volley of arrows in the process. Merlin held his breath, biting his lip. He couldn’t possibly perform magic spells from this distance without running the risk of the king getting hurt. Across the drawbridge, on the other side of the moat, Arthur’s companion seemed to be gesturing. Aiming at the swimmer in the moat, the troll’s arrows hit the surface of the water in ever increasing volleys, but strangely without injuring Arthur, who was now diving below the surface, temporarily disappearing from view.

Noticing Merlin turn pale at what he saw down below, Sir Leon pulled him aside to take a look. “Merlin, Elyan, go and help Gawain! Percival, come with me, we must rescue Arthur!” Sir Leon tried to hurry down the stairs but Merlin held him back.

“No, you’re not well enough to face so many attackers. Let me go with Percival, you stay and rescue Gawain, far better odds.” Merlin was running down the spiral stairs before Sir Leon had a chance to protest.

“Merlin! What on earth can you do against an army of trolls? Polish them until they yield?” Sir Leon shouted after him.

Merlin called out over his shoulder without slowing down his descent. “Ha, you’ve never seen my polishing! I’m lethal with a brush and bucket!”

“That’s not what Arthur says,” Sir Percival muttered, shrugging his shoulders. “Leon, look after Gawain, I’d better go after Merlin, before the trolls rip off his impetuous head.”

Out of breath, Merlin reached the final step and bounded into the courtyard. The trolls were concentrating on the attackers on the drawbridge and didn’t notice his approach. Merlin searched the courtyard for anything useful. In a dark corner by the guardhouse he found a broom, bucket and wire brush. He aimed a spell at them; they instantly shot up, flew through the air and knocked out three trolls at once. 

“If there’s one thing I’m good at, it’s mopping up after Arthur’s mess,” Merlin grinned and aimed another spell at the rusty armour in the courtyard. It awoke, made ready for battle and with a swish of his hand Merlin sent the living armour towards the attackers on the drawbridge. Behind him, he heard Percival cluttering down the stairs. Merlin picked up a heavy club and ran over to the stricken trolls on the ground.

“That’ll teach you to be more hospitable to my king!” Merlin was busy clouting a troll over the head, when Percival entered the courtyard.

Grabbing one of the swords from the unconscious trolls, Percival ran out onto the drawbridge, where he was able to dispatch the last of the attackers still standing. Rusty armour lay everywhere among the fallen bodies. Baffled, Percival surveyed the carnage on the bridge and stared back over his shoulder into the courtyard, where Merlin was just aiming a final kick at an already beaten troll.

“Remind me never to doubt your polishing again!” Percival pointed at the bruised and battered trolls. “How on earth did you...?”

Merlin hurtled past him. “Never mind that now! Where’s Arthur?” he panted, searching the shore and the moat. The surface of the water was littered with floating arrows and the embankment on the other side of the castle was covered in spears still vibrating with the force of the impact. 

Looking over the railing of the bridge he spotted something floating in the water...a garment of some sort...a girl’s embroidered blouse? Merlin cursed under his breath. Had it all been for nothing? He stared at the dark water but no matter how hard he looked, there was no sign of the king and his companion anywhere!


	4. 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Arthur and Dragonara tramp through the forest trying to make sense of King Leofwine's motives and attempting to rescue Dragonara's kidnapped daughter Eleanor. Merlin and the knights meanwhile are still trying to escape from the witches' lair, while Gaius and Gwen are debating how to avoid Leofwine's waging war on Camelot if they cannot procure a dragon's heart for him before the given deadline runs outs. Gwen is reluctantly settling into her role as queen, with Gaius at her side to guide her.

While Merlin and the knights were attempting to rescue their friend Gawain, Arthur was trying to fathom his mysterious godmother Dragonara’s motives.

Leading their tired horses through brambles and straggling ferns, they were always on the lookout for Urien’s men. The boy Eliffer was seemingly still asleep on the back of his rather magnificent Friesian and Arthur began to wonder, if the boy merely feigned his slumber in order to eavesdrop on their conversation. Surely, nobody could sleep through a journey in such difficult terrain, especially when slung across the back of a horse like a sack of grain?

Yawning, Arthur tramped through the forest, keeping one eye on his godmother while trying to keep alert for any attackers coming at him from the dense undergrowth of fledgling oak, pine and beech. His hand on Excalibur, he expected to be ambushed by the princeling and his men at any moment.

“Where will you go?” Arthur asked quietly, when they had reached the lake; he looked around, but there was no sign of Eleanor. “Camelot is no place for your kind.”

Dragonara’s face showed concern. “I have my own lands and castle waiting for me at Dunum,” she said absentmindedly. “Where’s that girl got to? Eleanor!” She called out into the night. The only response they received was the quacking of a duck clumsily landing on the lake. A careful search of the wider area surrounding the lake produced no Eleanor. Arthur prevented Dragonara from breaking cover and they crouched down by a clump of brambles and listened. Nothing! Not a sound!

“Eleanor, show yourself or I swear you’ll be assigned to Camelot kitchen duties for a month!” Dragonara hissed, risking a step towards the lake. “Youngsters! Why can’t they ever do as they’re told?”

Arthur couldn’t help it, a broad grin stole across his face; his godmother sounded just like Gaius, whenever he discovered Merlin was in the tavern instead of cleaning the court physician’s leech tank as promised. If anybody had planned to attack them, surely they would have done so by now. Arthur risked breaking cover; the moon glittering on the surface of the lake showed him they were utterly alone. Dragonara drew her sword and started to coombe the shrubs closer to the shore, while Arthur began examining the ground for clues.

“Look, over there!” Arthur hurried over to the edge of the water. He picked up a scarf. “It’s hers! The ground is trampled; I count at least ten knights and their mounts!”

“Could they be troll tracks?”

“No, their horses never came up to the lake’s shore. These boot prints are deep, but not nearly as deep as those armour-plated trolls would have left with their huge feet.”

“Damn you, Urien!” Dragonara punched the air with her fist. “If we try riding to Camelot now, our tired horses will probably collapse. If we wait until morning, Urien and his men will be back with their raiding party and we will be so outnumbered, there’s no hope of freeing the girl!”

“You think Urien snatched his sister? Why, what does he want with her?”

Ignoring his question, Dragonara paced back and forth, mumbling to herself, clearly trying to come up with a plan, while Arthur‘s unseeing eyes glanced at the trees, the stars in the sky and the moon lighting up the lake. It seemed days since he had last slept. He stirred, when a cold breeze caught his hair and thin shirt. He bent down and scooped up a handful of water from the lake, splashing his face and neck. The cold water revived him and Arthur began following the tracks the troll brigands had left in the soft woodland soil; the tracks were leading him away from the lake. They headed east and the riders had clearly carried a heavy load – Arthur’s men! Retracing his steps to the lake’s shore, Arthur picked up the trail Urien’s raiding party had left. He followed the tracks further into the forest and stopped abruptly. Strangely, the tracks headed west...towards the path he and his own men had taken that very morning...Urien’s trail led directly to Camelot!

With a sense of foreboding Arthur followed the imprints of the horses’ hooves until they began to mingle with the tracks he and his knights had left that same day. An idea formed in Arthur’s mind and he turned to find Dragonara gazing at him intently. He hadn’t heard her sneak up! Was this a trap? Arthur mulled over the idea. If Dragonara had wanted to lead him into an ambush, she’d had ample opportunity to take him prisoner with the help of Urien’s men earlier that night. Whatever that young blister was up to, Dragonara was clearly not in the prince’s confidence. Perhaps Urien and Leofwine had taken the girl hostage, in case Arthur rode to Leofwine’s court to challenge him. Arthur had been asking himself ever since they’d met the young prince, why exactly Dragonara had left her king. Was Eleanor a bargaining chip between two unrelenting monarchs and now he, Arthur was caught in the middle of two warring factions?

If his godmother really was who she claimed to be and her sorcery was not aiming to harm him, then where were his knights? Had the troll ambush been of Dragonara’s making? It might have been a test of his kingship and compassion for his men! The harsh words she had spoken earlier about the reign of Uther still echoed in Arthur’s mind. Yes, if she really had been his mother’s dearest friend and was indeed his godmother, testing his skills as a leader of men would make sense...but whatever the answer might be, one thing was certain, she was a sorceress and therefore not to be trusted!

What if the troll abduction of his men and the kidnapping of Eleanor served one and the same purpose: namely to keep the king of Camelot away from his realm, leaving the citadel unprotected? Arthur ran his fingers through his hair and groaned. So many questions! He had to get back to Guinevere; perhaps she’d know what to do!

“Have you picked up their trail?” Dragonara interrupted his thoughts, puzzled by the intense frown on Arthur’s face. Arthur didn’t reply at once, but chose his words carefully, weighing up in his mind, whether or not he should come clean about his true identity. A cloud drifted across the moon, but when it passed the light fell full on the lady’s face and with sudden relief Arthur recognised the look on her face for what it truly was. He’d seen that very expression on Gaius’ face many times, mostly when Merlin, as dear as a son to the old physician, had been in some kind of trouble. Arthur made up his mind.

“Let us free my men! Together we’ll be able to retrieve Eleanor safely,” Arthur said. “Urien’s horses are just as tired as ours; he must make camp somewhere, before returning to Leofwine. We’ll catch up with him, yet!”

At the words _my men_ Dragonara’s eyebrows rose by an inch, but she merely nodded her approval. “Tell me how I can help.”

“If your magic tricks cannot transport us to the trolls’ lair, we’ll have to walk to save our horses’ energy.”

“My magical powers are restricted to children’s amusements, I’m afraid.” Ignoring the intense scrutiny with which Arthur studied her face Dragonara began to remove the saddle from her horse. She hoisted it over her shoulder and handed him the saddle bags from Hengist’s back also. “Here, we might as well lighten their load. Let Eliffer sleep for a while, his slight weight will not inconvenience a brute of Hengist’s size.”

Leading both Frisians with a steady hand, she followed Arthur into the forest. With his blonde head bowed low so he would not lose the tracks left by the trolls, he could have almost passed for Urien. Eliffer slept soundly across the saddle, perhaps dreaming he was still in the camp. Meanwhile, Arthur had given up hope of ever being allowed to close his eyes again. Trying to concentrate on the path ahead, he rubbed the sleep out of his eyes and was able to follow the troll’s tracks with relative ease; the riders’ heavy load had left deep impressions in the forest soil.

Emboldened by their earlier exchange and as a means to keep awake, Arthur turned and said:” Tell me, how do you know Uther’s queen?”

“I knew her from a child, when I was living in these parts. She was like a little sister to me and I bitterly regret not having spoken out against her marriage. Uther was a most unsuitable match for such a gentle lady.”

Arthur tried to suppress the anger rising in him, but didn’t quite succeed. “I doubt the word of a sorceress would have had much influence at Uther’s court!”

“Merlin, there was a time when Uther was as keen as anybody to exploit sorcery for his own ends. It wasn’t Ygraine’s death that turned him against magic; it was his own guilty conscience.”

“That’s a lie, witch! My father had nothing to do with her death!”

Having finally betrayed his true identity, Arthur’s blazing eyes challenged her, his hand reaching for his sword. Ignoring his blustering and the revelation, Dragonara went blithely on. “How do you know? Is that what he told you, the noble king?”

“He didn’t have to! I’ve seen with my own eyes what harm sorcery can do. You may be my godmother and you may have deceived my mother, but you’re not fooling me. As far as Camelot is concerned, magic is still banned and as long as I’m king that will never change.”

“In other words, your godmother isn’t welcome at court. So much for your word! You’re truly your father’s son. Uther, the hypocrite and liar! Uther, the murderer of innocent men, women and children! You told Urien, the king of Camelot would protect us and see me and my children safely home. At the first opportunity you’re reneging on your promise.” Dragonara’s nostrils flared. “Why pretend you’re a servant? Are you ashamed of the name Pendragon? You certainly should be!”

Taken aback by this rebuke, Arthur’s hand stole away from the hilt of his sword. He dropped his chin and blinked. “Nobody in need of protection will be turned away from Camelot.”

“I’m glad to hear it!” Dragonara said with a much softer tone of voice. “There was a time when godmothers could rely on a welcome hug, a hearty meal and a place by the fire!” She opened her arms and tried to embrace him, but he was too quick for her. He slid past her as agile as an eel. Her arms dropped to her side and she sighed. She hung her head, her blonde mane covering her face, so he wouldn’t see her tears.

Arthur’s face had taken on a rather mulish expression. “Times change!”

“Precisely! Arthur my boy, one of these days you’ll have to accept not all sorcerers are out to get you. Some have nothing more sinister on their minds than conjuring up a pair of woolly socks.”

Arthur rolled his eyes. “On their days off, when they’re not trying to kill me?”

“Try godmothers, who saved your naked royal behind from being served up as troll dinner!” Dragonara wiped her eyes with the back of her hand and whispered:” _Nantosuelta!”_

Startled, Arthur took a few paces back and raised his arms in defence. His godmother merely pointed to the ground, where a small brook had appeared. “Now we won’t lose the trail in the dark,” she said.

Arthur stared at his feet, where the brook wound its way through the trampled soil and followed the trolls’ tracks. He lowered his defences and looked at her. “Uuhm...what’s your stance on turning ungrateful godchildren into toads?”

“It’s not _my_ humble magic you need to be wary of. It’s Leofwine’s!” She reached out to her godson and ruffled his hair, before Arthur had a chance to duck. While the horses took a few sips from the brook, Arthur’s mind raced. His regal dignity demanded an immediate retreat, but he endured her caress manfully, until her last remark began to sink in. He grabbed hold of her shoulders and pushed her gently, but firmly back.

“King Leofwine’s a sorcerer? This gets better and better! When exactly were you planning to tell me? Before or after Leofwine’s army of trolls had breached the walls of Camelot?”

“Don’t be so melodramatic! Leofwine’s heard how Cenred’s army failed against the citadel. He’s not going to attack just to capture me and my children. He’s far too cowardly for that.”

“Tell me, what did Leofwine do to drive you away? Conjure up too many socks? ” Arthur ventured, noting the pained expression on Dragonara’s face. “Bringing your daughter on this journey, I can understand, but why did you bother with the boy? He clearly went to the same servant school as Merlin did!” Arthur cast an accusing glance into Eliffer’s direction and was treated to a snort by the sleeping boy. “Wait a minute...what did you just...MY CHILDREN?” Arthur gasped. “Eliffer’s your son!”

“Quiet, he’ll hear you!” Dragonara hurried over to the brute Hengist, who was nibbling on a bushel of grass. She caressed Eliffer’s pale forehead. The boy mumbled something in his sleep, but didn’t awake. “He doesn’t know, I beg of you, he must never know.” Dragonara’s green eyes filled with tears again.

“It’s not brotherly love that’s prompted Urien to snatch the girl, is it?”

Dragonara shook her head and gripped the saddle across her shoulder so tightly Arthur could see her knuckles turn white. She took a deep breath. “I once loved Leofwine, but his jealousy and cruelty towards his subjects grew worse with every year that passed. The death of his first wife...rather unhinged his mind...I should never have married such a man...my passion sooner or later always gets the better of me! I grew lonely and fell in love with our court physician Nechtan, a wonderful man. For years we all lived far happier as three than we had been as two...until Urien took to spying on me. When Leofwine found out about Nechtan, he had him killed, but he did not dare an open quarrel – too many of his knights are loyal to me! Leofwine suspects Eliffer’s my son, but he doesn’t know for sure. The boy was born when the king was making war on his neighbours, far away from his own citadel.”

Having just accepted her as a potentially harmless sorceress, Arthur was now trying to digest the news of her adultery. “Your court physician? You’re a queen, for goodness sake! Couldn’t you at least have found a knight for your courtly romance –“

“What? Fall in love with a passing princeling or a king from a respectable neighbourhood? Honestly Arthur, you’re a fine one to talk! From what I hear, your bride isn’t exactly top drawer either!” Dragonara interrupted him angrily. “Tell me, should I present Guinevere with a new broom and bucket for her wedding gift or will your queen prefer a mop and duster?”

“You leave Guinevere out of this!” Arthur turned on his godmother, his cheeks red and his nostrils flaring like Hengist’s the brute. “What does Urien hope to achieve by abducting his half-sister? Force you to return to...what fate exactly?”

Dragonara looked distinctly uncomfortable. “Leofwine only wants me back for one reason...to punish me...he won’t kill me...that’s far too kind by his standards; no, by making me perform sorcery that he’s not capable of himself he hopes to torment me. Nechtan was from the neighbouring kingdom...the very realm Leofwine’s been at war with for years. In his jealousy and rage, he wants to avenge my betrayal on the entire kingdom of Bres.”

“Is Leofwine likely to turn up at Camelot demanding the return of his wife?”

Dragonara pointed towards the watery line at their feet. “Let’s not wait to find out. It’s about time we freed your men. The real Merlin is among them, I take it?”

Arthur nodded miserably. “When the trolls attacked, he pretended to be me.”

Dragonara followed the brook into the forest. Turning her head, she said over her shoulder: “He’s very brave...and loyal, that servant of yours.”

“And daft as a brush, most of the time!” Arthur said, but not unkindly. He tugged at Hengist’s mane and the huge horse reluctantly relinquished the succulent herbs it had been guzzling. Arthur followed his godmother’s magical guide just as reluctantly into the forest.

Just before dawn, Arthur, Dragonara and the sleeping Eliffer reached a wider path, a road in fact, lined by trees on either side. The tracks became faint now that the ground was harder. The brook began to form a puddle to the delight of the horses, which drank eagerly, before the puddle finally dispersed into the scorched earth. Journey’s end! They rested under a tree, each too tired to speak, while the horses began grazing again. His godmother reasoned with him to lie down and rest, while Dragonara kept watch. Reluctantly, he agreed and fell into an uneasy slumber. After what seemed mere moments of sleep to him, Arthur felt himself being raised to his feet and dusted down by gentle hands. He stretched and shook his head, trying to get the buzzing noise out of his mind. He put one foot in front of the other, too tired to make out exactly where his feet were leading him and followed his godmother and the horses with unseeing eyes. Eventually, they came upon the castle, the ruined towers rising up out of the early morning mist. There was no adequate tree cover, so they had no choice but to walk right up to the drawbridge and moat.

“I have the strangest feeling, I’ve been here before,” Dragonara rubbed her eyes and yawned. “Perhaps I’m dreaming. What now? We can’t just walk across the bridge!”

“Why don’t you magic us a boat?” Arthur snapped. His exhaustion and concern over his men were finally getting the better of him.

To his surprise Dragonara simply sat down and buried her face in her hands. Her shoulders began to heave and Arthur realised she was sobbing. Startled, he drew closer and was about to lay a hand on her shoulder, when Dragonara lifted her head. “Until today, I hadn’t used magic for nearly twenty years! A small trick to comfort or amuse a child, nothing more…but this place…I remember now...I’ve been here before. By what foul design were we brought here?”

Arthur’s eyes travelled from her tear-stained face to the moat and back again. If Dragonara’s cuckolded husband had not sent the trolls, then who had? The castle ahead showed no sign of life; no archers paraded on the galleries, no guards appeared at the gate. Arthur listened intently into the fading night and frowned. His teeth had started to chatter. Irritated by his own weakness, he began stamping his feet and hugging his waist with his arms. He missed his chainmail and armour, although they weren’t adequate protection against the chill of the early morning damp; he simply wished they’d be a little better equipped for their three-man siege. As if reading his thoughts, Dragonara got up, wiped her face with the back of her wrist and handed him her own chainmail and helmet.

“It probably won’t fit, but it’s all we’ve got,” she whispered, when Arthur looked at her incredulously.

“What about you? I can’t take this!”

Dragonara managed a weak smile and pressed the armour back into his arms. “Instead of all the woolly socks my godson would have had over the years! I’ll be fine.”

She was not to be dissuaded; he took the armour and tried to squeeze into her chainmail, cursing Merlin as he did so. Once inside the shirt, he could barely move. A red-faced Arthur gasped. “I won’t even make it as far as the gate in this.”

Dragonara snorted. “Try wearing my corset! Perhaps we’d better loose the chainmail. No point impressing the guards with an improved waistline anyway; I hear trolls like their playmates to be fat.”

Arthur gratefully dropped the armour to the ground and tried the helmet. “Amazing how a blacksmith can fit Camelot’s royal heads onto those tiny coins, isn’t it?” Dragonara said when Arthur repeatedly failed to accommodate his lantern chin under the visor. “You’ll have better vision without the visor down, you know.” The corners of Dragonara’s mouth were twitching dangerously, but she refrained from further comment and handed him her shield.

Arthur handed the shield wordlessly back and pointed at the sleeping boy. Dragonara nodded sadly and accepted the shield, before drawing her own sword.

“Wait, until I give the signal. Stay out of trouble. You may not be the godmother I would have wished for, but you’re all I’ve got.”

His godmother pulled a face. “Don’t fail me, Arthur Pendragon! I might be tempted to bury Camelot under a mountain of woolly socks!”

 Arthur grinned and ran off to make a survey of the moat’s edge, hoping to find a boat moored among the reeds that would take them across to an open access point below the bridge, namely the point where many castles keep a chute for their refuse. Climbing through it would not be pleasant, but they were less likely to be detected that way.

The sky was gradually fading from indigo to purple, from purple to mauve. A first sliver of sun might appear at any moment. Birds came out of their nests and started their day’s work. A fox hurried past the exhausted would-be invaders and from somewhere within the castle a horse whinnied.

“That’s my horse! We’re at the right place!” Arthur said. He instantly regretted his cheerfulness, when the morning’s tranquillity was shattered by a terrifying scream.

“That’s Gawain!” Not waiting for a boat or raft to magically appear, Arthur rushed into the waves, ignoring Dragonara’s warning cry. In front of them, the portcullis slowly lifted and trolls started streaming out onto the bridge. The first archers appeared and aimed their arrows at the swimmer trying to cross the moat. Arthur dived briefly and when he resurfaced, his shirt was missing. A few arrows were aimed at the shirt, before dull troll minds realised the deception. Arthur gave his attackers a friendly wave with Dragonara’s helmet and swam half-way across the moat. Another volley of arrows forced him to stop. He clapped the helmet back on his head and took a deep breath, ready to dive once more, but up on the drawbridge the magical armour clubbed a fat troll on the head just when he was trying to aim a spear at his attacker on the bridge. The missile missed its intended target and landed with a loud clang on the swimmer’s helmet instead. Instantly, Arthur sank below the surface and disappeared from view.

Dragonara’s hands flew up to her mouth and she cried out.

 

Meanwhile, elsewhere in the castle...

 

Marigold gave a twirl in her new dress. The polished silver platter didn’t lie. No doubt about it, her hair had regained its raven gloss and her skin was as rosy as it had once been. She ran an appreciative hand over her re-discovered curves. Everything was firm again and her waist was so tiny, the silver girdle her father had given when she was a girl fitted her once again. She applauded her mirror image delightedly and turned to her sister. “The Arthur boy didn’t lie. He’s of royal blood. The spell finally worked!”

Ethelgunda frowned at the liver spots re-emerging on her hands. “Marigold, I don’t think it did.” She held up a strand of Marigold’s hair against the candle’s flame. “Look, there’s silver mingling with the black.”

Marigold ended her dance abruptly and sank down onto a cushion-covered chest. “Please don’t say such things! We both saw...when she drank the brew, Yolanda returned to her former beauty. The young knight couldn’t keep his eyes off her.” Marigold said quietly.

“That’s not all he failed to keep to himself last night,” said Ethelgunda wryly, picking up a pair of socks from the floor.  “He practically mauled us during the dance.”

Marigold giggled and rubbed her behind. “I know what you mean. Parts of me are black and blue.”

Ethelgunda frowned and held the offending garments at arm’s length. “Phew, what a stink! No wonder I passed out after the sixth round,” she hurled the socks into the miserable fire they had lit in the remnants of the hearth. Ethelgunda got up and pulled impatiently at a bell rope. Unding, her favourite troll, appeared presently. He surveyed the ruined hall with obvious distaste. “Tidy up this mess, will you. Bring me the prisoners. I must have a word with that young rat of a king.”

“Uum, the prisoners, yes. Not entirely sure, where...at this exact moment...I know, they’re _somewhere_ in the castle,” Unding said. He risked a glance at Marigold, whose much reduced frame was currently draping itself over a scorched armchair by the fire.

Ethelgunda stared open-mouthed at her subordinate’s face. “What do you mean...they’re SOMEWHERE in the castle? Aren’t they in the dungeons, where they’re supposed to be?”

Unding shifted uncomfortably in his chainmail. “Fact is, they...uhm...not exactly scarpered...we just mislaid them...temporarily,” he added, when Ethelgunda’s eyebrows rose to a dangerous level. “My men are keeping an eye out. Mistress Yolanda’s got one of them up in the tower, no doubt she’s...erm...interrogating him as we speak.” Unding’s ears turned scarlet. “May I say how...erm...lovely you both look on this fine morning?”

Ethelgunda positioned herself directly in front of him and peered into his yellow eyes. “Unding, if I didn’t know any better, I’d say you’d just taken a liberty with my sister’s honour. I want those men found, do you hear? Especially that lying little brat who called himself a king! Bring them to me and tell my sister to control her thirst for...erm...knowledge! I want to see those knights crawling in here on all fours.”

Unding blinked. “Beggin’ your pardon, Mistress Ethelgunda, but your sister’s locked the door and won’t let anyone in. My men have tried.”

“Then break it down, Unding! Take a battering ram, if you have to! Do I have to think of everything?” Ethelgunda stamped her foot so hard on Unding’s toes, he cried out with pain and doubled up. She pushed him towards the open door and propelled him towards the stairs by clouting him his head. Marigold followed them out into the corridor and honoured him with a friendly wave, but did nothing to stop the maltreatment of their subordinate.

Trying to regain his composure, Unding straightened and mopped his sweaty brow. His foot hurt and he felt a little dizzy. He hobbled out to the guard room, where a contingent of his men sat idly playing cards. Barking out his orders, he clouted one of them on the head with his fist and punched another in the gut. He felt better after that...well, almost. The thought of breaking down Mistress Yolanda’s door perturbed him. It went against his sensibilities to intrude on a lady’s privacy.

He remembered her from the days, when she’d been a girl. She’d often come to the guard’s mess hall to play the lute for the men during long winter evenings. Her disposition had been as lively as her beauty and she had sometimes graced their numbers by singing a romantic tune or two. Unding sighed and scratched his scaly belly. It seemed a lifetime ago, perhaps it was. He watched the guards hurry out into the courtyard, where half of them took up position, while some of the others streamed up the stairs to the towers. Another group scoured the dark corridors for the prisoners. Unding held back his two favourite men.

“You two come with me. Let’s patrol the outer fortifications and the moat. We’d better check the refuse chute, too. Last time we had guests, one of them tried to make it out that way.”

Before Unding got a chance to leave for his appointed task, one of the lookouts came back running across the courtyard. The fat troll stopped breathlessly in front of Unding. “Intruders! Out by the moat! Two knights on horseback, perhaps three, hard to tell in this infernal twilight.”

“Two measly knights? For that you wake up the entire castle with your clamouring? Send out a few archers and deal with it. Do I have to think of everything?” Unding punched the man’s belly. “If you paid more attention to your guard duties and less to your grub, you’d make a half-way decent sentry!”

The troll winced and sucked in his bulge. Saluting his superior, he turned and panted back to the portcullis. Unding heard the man bark his orders and the guards began lifting the heavy portcullis to open the gate. The sound of heavy boots in the courtyard announced the arrival of the archers.

Appeased, Unding and his two companions searched the galleries that lined the defensive walls, in case anyone had tried to climb up with ropes or ladders, unlikely as it seemed. They passed a giant mangonel standing on an upper gallery; once used to catapult severed enemy heads into besieging armies gathered outside the castle walls, the mangonel was now sitting harmless and bloodless in the early dawn gathering cobwebs and dust. Unding patted the instrument fondly, while his men headed for the rubbish chute by the old kitchens. From the drawbridge shouting and cursing drifted up to his lofty perch, but Unding ignored it, preferring to linger in the first warm rays of the sun instead.

Unding recalled the days of his old master, the days when the castle had been in good repair and the mangonel in frequent use. He leaned his back against the catapult and chuckled. “It must be twenty years or more, since we last filled this thing with rocks and heaped a load of trouble on King Leofwine’s head!”

The sound had been miniscule but a troll’s hearing was superior to a human’s. Despite the clamour rising up from the moat, the gasp had clearly originated from very close by. Unding sniffed the cool morning air and a pleasurable thrill ran down his spine. His nostrils had detected the unmistakable aroma of the moat. This early in the day the stench never came up to the galleries, no matter how hot the day before had been. He listened closely. No mistake! The ground under the siege engine was wet. Water was dripping from somewhere on the catapult. This could only mean one thing...

He turned abruptly and pounced on the bedraggled figure cowering in the giant claw of the siege engine. Shaped like the open paw of a hellish beast, the instrument that normally held rocks now contained a half-naked man, drenched and covered in algae. Unding grabbed the man by the throat and lifted him out in one swift motion. The man was dressed in a hose that was far too short and instead of a belt he wore, what looked like a lady’s scarf tied around his waist. Unding laughed unpleasantly and squeezed a little harder. The blonde man’s eyes began to bulge, nearly popping out of his head. Unding shifted his position slightly, lowering the man as he did so and the man’s face levelled with the troll’s. Unding’s yellow eyes squinted at the intruder.

“Now who might you be, friend? I don’t recall putting you across my saddle last night.” The troll patted the colourful bow at the man’s waist. “And I’m sure I’d have remembered such a pretty one as you!”

“Likewise, friend!” The man reached over his shoulder and grabbed the hilt of the sword he’d secured to his back with the help of Eleanor’s scarf, treating Unding to a blow to the head. The troll let go off Arthur instantly and staggered back. Arthur helpfully held out one leg and Unding tripped, knocking himself out on the mangonel. Arthur rolled the troll’s unconscious body out of sight behind the siege engine and followed the machicolation towards the highest tower, from where the scream had originated earlier. Down below, on the other side of the moat, he spotted the two Frisians, but there was no sign of the lady or the boy. Hengist lifted his powerful black head and whinnied, stirring his huge body into a gallop that headed straight for the drawbridge at full speed. Arthur’s eyes followed the horse and to his amazement he saw a set of armour march out of the castle – minus the man inside – to fight a couple of trolls on the bridge. An unseen hand lifted a cudgel and hit one of the guards on the head. Dragonara was practicing magic right under Arthur’s nose! A few harmless magic tricks to comfort a child, she’d said! He was still trying to work out, how he’d come to be on the gallery. The last thing he remembered was being hit on the head by a heavy object, before sinking down into the moat. Dragonara was a liar, like all sorcerers!

Down below, he caught a glimpse of Percival emerging into the courtyard. To his astonishment, Arthur spotted Merlin repeatedly clubbing a troll over the head. His men were certainly alive and well! Breathing a sigh of relief, Arthur hurried along the machicolation and dived through an open door into a dark antechamber. He crossed into a larger room, dusty and neglected, ran down a set of stairs and followed the next gallery south, where he came to a dead end. The heavy door into the tower was locked and no amount of hammering with his fists was going to shift it. He looked up and down the tower, hoping to find an open window, but there seemed to be only arrow slits, far too small for a man to crawl through. Finally, at the very top, he noticed an opening. A faded banner dangled down from the window above and flapped in the wind. Cursing his luck, Arthur lowered himself over the balustrade of the gallery and grabbed hold of the banner. He tested it – the fabric was old and worn but seemed strong enough to hold his weight.

“For Camelot!” He sighed and had just started his slow ascent up the tower, when a head popped out of the window above and shouted something incomprehensible at him. Arthur shuddered. That was the most hideous face he’d ever seen! What kind of a ghoul was holding his friends prisoner?

 

Meanwhile, across the forest in another castle...

 

Gaius peered out of the council chamber window and shut it rapidly, before the glow of the fires and noise from the tents below could alarm the queen. “Isn’t it a godmother’s duty to bless her young charges, while sprinkling a little happiness? Frankly, I can’t see Arthur being over the moon to find an army on his doorstep, when he expected two decades worth of birthday presents to be dropped at his feet!”

“Neither can I! Let’s hope the men camping outside are well-wishers bringing frankincense and myrrh. If only we knew, where Arthur is! He must have met with his troublesome godmother and this is the result. Has there been no word?” Queen Guinevere picked up her sceptre and used it to scratch her ankle.

Gaius shook his head. “The scouts were unable to leave the citadel, but a few refugees from the outlying villages made it through. Their homes are burned, their crops destroyed. Nobody has seen Arthur or his men. What is Merlin playing at, not sending word! There must be at least 10,000 men stationed out there. What beats me is why they don’t attack. With our king and best knights gone, we’re sitting ducks.” The old physician opened his satchel and produced a phial containing a bright blue elixir. He held it up to the candlelight and the liquid began to sparkle. “Here, you’ll find that far more effective.”

“Thank you, this infernal sprain is driving me mad.” Guinevere sat with her leg propped up on a chair across from him. The table between them was strewn with leather-bound books and parchments. Sitting at the far end of the table, the king’s old librarian, Geoffrey of Monmouth, had rested his head on his arms and was snoring quietly. The two guards by the door were softly swaying back and forth, leaning half asleep on their lances.

Gwen’s right ankle was covered in swathes of bandages. “My first official engagement as queen and I trip over a bucket! It wouldn’t be so bad, if I could blame my new maid, but it was entirely my own fault.” Guinevere sighed and adjusted her foot on the embroidered cushion her maid had placed there. Gaius wholeheartedly approved of Arthur’s choice. The maid had been gentle but firm in her administrations following the incident with the bucket and broom. “I’m not even allowed to dust in Arthur’s chambers. Merlin has practically banned me from entering during the day,” Gwen complained.

“What did you expect? It’s tough being queen,” Gaius grinned from ear to ear.

Gwen stopped scratching her ankle and balanced the sceptre across her lap. “Not very regal, is it, competing with my maid for the honour of producing the shiniest floor, when I should be greeting visiting monarchs?”

Gaius smiled and crossed the room. “You’re still adjusting. A few hick-ups are to be expected.” He unwrapped her foot and dribbled a few drops of the bright blue liquid onto her ankle. “Here, that should stop the itching. It’s good news; it means the swelling’s going down.”

Gwen pulled a face and held her nose. “Is there any danger of you ever concocting a medicine that doesn’t stink to high heaven?”

“None whatsoever,” Gaius said. He rewound her bandages and wiped his hands. “Let me see that parchment again.” Gwen reached across the untidy table and handed him a scroll. He consulted it with a frown, drew up a chair next to Gwen’s and sat down so abruptly, the draft caused the sole candle on the table to gutter. Gwen buried her face in her hands.

“What are we going to do, Gaius?”

“I really have no idea, but unless we produce a dragon’s heart two nights from now, Leofwine’s army will lay waste to Camelot!”

“But there aren’t any dragons left in Camelot! Uther saw to it.”

“Which makes obtaining a dragon’s heart a trifle difficult, I can see that,” Gaius said. He raised an eyebrow, when he realised what his fingers had been playing with. Surely, it was just another book from the pile on the table...but why were his fingertips tingling with excitement? He turned the dusty, leather-bound tome around and read the title on the flysheet. “ _Dragons and their Ladies_ by Aurelius Smarticus the Younger,” the court physician read out loud. “Maybe the good Aurelius can tell us how dragons lose their hearts!”

“Be serious, Gaius! There’s no such thing as a female dragon. That man Aurelius is a fool. Dragons reproduce by magic, everybody knows that.”

Gaius weighed the book in his hands. “Hm, he’s not called Smarticus for nothing...and he’s devoted a staggering 500 handwritten pages to the subject.” Gaius started reading the first paragraph, but Gwen snatched the book away and shut it firmly.

“If you can drag yourself away from dragons’ romantic entanglements for a moment, perhaps you can tell me how we’re supposed to protect Camelot. Even if we were able and willing to comply with his request, there’s no guarantee Leofwine won’t attack just to prove a point.” Gwen picked up Smarticus’ tome and struck the table so forcefully the two guards raised their sleepy heads. “If Leofwine thinks I’m sending a hunting party of knights into Odin’s realm to search for dragons, he’s got another thing coming. I’d risk offending Odin by crossing his borders and we’d have war on two fronts!”

“Perhaps that’s what Leofwine’s after! He must know there aren’t any dragons left in Camelot. It’s a ruse to draw Odin into a war against Arthur.”

“Getting Odin to do Leofwine’s dirty work, you mean?” Gwen sighed. “I wished Merlin was here, he’s such a comfort in a crisis.”

Gaius patted her shoulder gently. “You miss Arthur, don’t you?”

“Why is he doing this, Gaius? We’ve been married for less than a month and he’s off on one of his infernal quests!” Gaius managed to stop her from hurling Aurelius’ book across the table. Absentmindedly, Gwen picked up her sceptre again.

The old physician shrugged his shoulders. “He’s Arthur; you can hardly expect him to remain in your bedchamber forever, no matter how much you want to protect him, Gwen!”

“He’s king, Gaius, and should be here to protect his people!”

“His people...or his queen? In the king’s absence it falls to you to save the citadel.”

Gwen gave him a long stare. “Is the servant girl up to the challenge - is that what you’re implying?”

“Arthur wouldn’t have chosen you for his queen, if he didn’t think you were destined to be one.”

A faint smile spread across the queen’s face. “Then I shall sweep away Leofwine’s army with my little broom and wash away the stain of my temporary cowardice, I trust.”

“Good girl!” Gaius leaned forward and kissed Gwen’s forehead. “Let’s give Leofwine some medicine he won’t forget in a hurry.”

“If only we knew what Leofwine wants with the dragon heart, perhaps we could find a substitute or dissuade him from this lunacy altogether.” Gwen gave her ankle another rigorous scratching, until Gaius detached the sceptre from her hands and put it out of her reach.

“We’re in for an interesting couple of days, that’s for sure,” Gaius nodded at the snoring head across the table. “I’m glad Geoffrey’s getting some sleep, I know I shan’t rest until Camelot’s safe again.”

“Neither shall I.” Gwen stood up and tested her right foot gingerly. It finally held her weight again. “Hand me the three books over there. You take the pile in front of you. There must be something in Geoffrey’s library that’ll tell us where to find a dragon’s heart!”

“It’s not the finding that worries me – it’s what happens next that’ll keep me awake.” Gaius said and began turning the pages of _Dragons and their Ladies_.


	5. 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prince Urien deposits Eleanor in a safe location and rides off to do his father's bidding, while King Leofwine continues to besiege Camelot, still waiting for Gwen to hand over the dragon's heart. An unknown friend brings food to Camelot's starving population, leaving Gaius and Gwen at a loss to interpret this act of kindness. Is it a trap? They speculate about the identity of the mysterious Dragon Queen.
> 
> Meanwhile, Eleanor is not content to stay put; she saddles her horse and takes off into the forest, seeking shelter at an inn, where she is soon discovered by an enemy ordered to hunt her down, Oswiu, a devoted follower of King Leofwine. Will she escape just in time or will Oswui capture his prize?

“Let me go, you hog-faced, wart-infested, pimple-nosed –“Eleanor’s terms of endearment were cut short, when her brother clamped his hand over her mouth and dragged her into the hollow of a willow’s trunk. She tried to wriggle out of Urien’s grasp but he was too strong and trying to bite him prompted her brother merely to tighten his grip and draw her closer into the hollow.

“Quiet or they’ll hear us!” Urien’s lips were so close to her ear, his warm breath sent an involuntary shiver down her spine. She relaxed into his arms and his hand slid from her mouth. Without letting go off her or loosening his hold, he leaned forward and parted the hanging willow branches to reveal the view over the expanse of water and its shores. He pointed wordlessly towards the far end of Lake Merthur, where a group of riders had just arrived. They dismounted, lit a few torches and began searching the ground, gradually coming closer to Urien and Eleanor’s hiding place. Eleanor turned her head and stared at her half-brother. She had recognised one of the men, the one with the bulky arms. These were Urien’s own men!

“I’ll explain later. Follow me!” His voice was barely audible, but the intensity of Urien’s gaze silenced her and she gave into her fate without further struggle. He took her by the hand and steered her away from the lake. They could hear muffled shouting drifting across the water, where the soldiers combed the bushes and undergrowth for traces of Eleanor. Urien raised a finger to his lips, cautioning her to keep her silence. He led her into an area of woodland that lay east of the road to Camelot. Here the terrain was strewn with upturned trees, fallen branches, rocks and boulders, making it difficult to walk in the dark. Eleanor fell several times, but Urien wouldn’t allow his sister to dress her grazed knees or catch her breath. Finally, they came to an overgrown hill that looked very much like an ancient tomb.

Urien darted forward, parted a hawthorn growing at the foot of the hill and revealed the entrance to a cave. He ushered Eleanor into the ancient crypt, ensuring the hawthorn’s branches covered the entrance once more. She shivered, for it was damp and cold in the vault. Urien pulled a handful of kindling from his pocket and struck a couple of flint stones. Before long a spark appeared and he quickly lit a torch. Inside, the mount was far larger than Eleanor had expected and the man-made cave extended probably a league into the ground. The ground was littered with small animal bones and pebbles, which Eleanor identified without difficulty as a sorcerer’s tools. Her eyes got used to the dark and she began to look around less cautiously, but recoiled, when she saw the niches ancient craftsmen had carved into the sides of the cave. Most niches contained complete skeletons, but some were crammed full of skulls. Their hollow eyes stared accusingly back at Eleanor, who sympathised. Their spirits were forced to hunt for their missing bodies, when they’d been promised during their lifetime this crypt was going to be their final resting place. A sound coming from the back of the cave made her jump.

“There’s somebody in here! You’ve betrayed me after all, you rogue!” Eleanor gasped and turned to flee. Urien burst out laughing, grabbed her wrist and pulled her close. He held up his torch to light up the rear part of the crypt. A horse waited patiently by an open sack of oats!

“Bede! You found him! Bad boy, running off like that.” Eleanor freed her wrist and darted forward to greet her childhood friend. She rubbed the horse’s muzzle and rested her tired head gratefully against the piebald’s neck. “A snake frightened him and he threw me off.”

Urien smiled. “I found him wandering on the road to Camelot. My men wanted to ride ahead, but I ordered them to the lake and told them to search for you, while I secured this little hidey-hole for your friend.”

Eleanor’s eyes widened. “You’re not taking me back to Leofwine?”

Urien dropped his head and snorted. “Not if I can help it! Listen, give me your scarf. A false trail should buy us some time. Wait until dawn, before you leave for Hild’s Rest, an inn at the Merthur to Arwen road, a couple of hours’ ride from here. Head east and then west again. Wait for me there. Do you have money?”

Eleanor felt for her purse but it was gone. “Bother, I left it in my saddle bag with Mother!”

Urien reached under his cloak and drew out a small leather pouch. “Here, take this. Tell Eanflæd, she’s the proprietor, to show you to a private room, where you can rest. When I’ve made arrangements, I’ll come for you.”

“But why? I thought you’d be keen to take me back. Aren’t you –“

“My father’s errant boy? Hardly! I’m my own man, Eleanor, and right now I see no purpose served in returning you to a realm, where Leofwine’s king.”

“Oh...I see...so that’s how the wind blows? You just pretended to hunt for us to save face with your father’s men. And how do I fit into this great scheme of yours, Urien?”

He smiled and stuck his torch between two protruding rocks. Urien’s pale face seemed to float above hers, when he detached the silk scarf from her moist neck and pressed his lips to her mouth, kissing her fleetingly, before rushing out of the cave and leaving her in the dark to ponder the future.

***

In an encampment outside Camelot...

 

Leofwine paced up and down in his tent, ignoring his servant’s plea to rest. The king’s congealed supper stood on a side table, his wine remained untouched, his shaving water was getting cold. The king’s crown lay disregarded on the pillows of his unmade bed. They had driven their horses relentlessly to reach the citadel and now the encampment was built and the demand had been sent up to the castle, Leofwine was more restless than ever. His favourite officer stood close to a small brazier and warmed his hands by the dying fire. Outside, the first soldiers were waking up; the cook was starting to prepare their morning gruel; two sleepy grooms were tending to several exhausted horses. Dawn had arrived and with it some unwelcome news.

“Lost! How could you let this happen? I charged you with her capture, Oswiu. Find her, find Eleanor and bring her to me!”

“Yes, my liege. Beggin’ your pardon, I believe the lady Eleanor had some help.” Oswiu crossed his impressive arms and frowned. “I found tracks of her horse...leadin’ away from the lake, but your son insisted it was a false trail and would lead to nothin’. We were ordered to ride on towards Camelot.”

“Urien?” Leofwine pondered the implications. He cast a surreptitious glance at Oswiu’s face; apart from the dust of the road and the exertion of the hunt, it showed nothing but the man’s customary loyalty. Leofwine licked his dry lips and said quietly: “My heart tells me, Urien would never defy his father’s will...but your face and my own counsel tell me otherwise. Well...well...the whelp thinks he can outwit his king.”

Leofwine selected a crystal from a row of rocks littering a small bed-side table and turned his back to Oswiu. The king turned the crystal thoughtfully in his hands, muttering to himself. The rock lit up in colours of yellow, green and blue and he raised the crystal to his eyes, peering inside. A broad smile stole across his face, his thin lips baring his teeth. He caught a glimpse of his own reflection in the highly polished breastplate of his armour hanging from the central beam supporting the roof. His features startled him as if he had come across an intruder in his tent. His hair had lost in black sheen, what the circles under his eyes had gained in darkness; his chin and cheeks were covered in grey bristles, his lips were pale and no longer full of life...but his heart and loins were still full of longing. He clenched his fist around the crystal and turned his back on the mirror image. Dragonara, you shall pay for this betrayal!

Leofwine raised the crystal to his mouth and planted a kiss on the cold stone. The light in the crystal died; he returned the stone to the table and addressed his officer. “Oswiu, before you leave to retrieve my step-daughter, tell Urien his presence is required instantly.”

Moments later Urien opened the flap to his father’s tent and stepped inside looking just as tired, dishevelled and unkempt as Oswiu did. Leofwine took in the dusty hose, the sweat stains under the arms and the streak of dirt across his son’s brow and grimaced. “Look what the cat’s dragged in!”

The prince helped himself to a cold chicken leg from his father’s supper plate and flopped onto the king’s bed, tossing the ruler’s crown to the floor in the process. “Good to see you, too, Father. How’ve you been?”

Ignoring his son’s pleasantries, Leofwine picked up a richly decorated dagger and began to clean his fingernails one by one. “There’s an errant I need you to run. Take a few men and ride out east towards Lake Merthur, from there take the route towards Osthryth’s Fort. On the way you’ll come across a ruined castle, where a band of brigands is hiding out. They’ve got something of mine...a trifle...a cask of wine...a rare vintage...nothing of great value, I grant you, but I want it back nonetheless.”

Urien bit into the drumstick and chewed thoughtfully. “A cask of wine you say? Hardly worth chasing after! My men and I are tired; we haven’t rested for two full days and nights. It’s market day on Wednesday; can’t I buy you a barrel of Burgundy instead?”

“No you can’t! Don’t argue with me, boy!”

“No need to shout! How did the brigands come into possession of something that belongs to my king?” Urien tossed the bare chicken bone carelessly over his shoulder. It landed on his father’s crown with a gentle POP. “Father, you arrived here accompanied by an army! You couldn’t possibly have been robbed on the way.”

“It was stolen quite some time ago...from my quarters when I was a guest at Castle Deira.” Leofwine turned slowly to face his son. “Thieves hide in the most unlikely places...and appear in the most innocent of guises. You’d be wise to remember that.”

Urien shrugged his shoulders and got up. “I’m pretty done in and so are my men. Can’t this wait? You’ve dragged us all the way out here to Camelot...for what? So you can huff and puff at Arthur’s doorstep and I can show my mettle by dealing with a bunch of thieving vagabonds? Honestly Father, let Dragonara go, she’s not worth it. Go home! If you want, we’ll make halt at Bernicia and ask King Edwin for one of his delectable daughters. I hear Sexburh’s a feisty filly. Edwin might even throw in a cart load of wine, if you’ll take her off his hands. Marry her and leave Camelot be!”

Leofwine sat down heavily on his make-shift throne. He ran his fingers through his grizzled hair and stared with undisguised displeasure at his son. “In the increasingly unlikely event that you should ever become king, you’d do well to remember your people will only respect a monarch who’s capable and willing to defend his honour, no matter what the cost.”

“In other words, this crown doesn’t sit well on the head of a cuckolded husband!” Urien picked up the golden crown and replaced it on the pillows of his father’s bed. “If only I’d kept my mouth shut...it never dawned on me what you might do! If you hadn’t killed Nechtan and threatened the queen, nobody would have been any the wiser. She could have been exiled to her own lands...now you’ve left the kingdom unprotected against its enemies and the throne in peril. How’s besieging Arthur’s citadel defending your honour, Father? What’s Camelot’s king got to do with your failed marriage? Arthur last met the lady, when he was a baby, for goodness sake!”

“Anyone giving that adulteress sanctuary is making a mockery of marriage and kingship, can’t you see that? He’s still young, he doesn’t know any better, but one day Arthur will thank me for teaching him how to deal with such a woman.”

“He’s not going to thank you for laying waste to his realm! You’ve plundered his villages, burned his crops; his people will starve, Father, and you’re raving about his future gratitude?”

Leofwine laughed without displaying even a hint of mirth. “I’m saving him from a worse fate, trust me, Urien. Dragonara’s a sorceress and Arthur is his father’s son. He’ll not harbour her for long, when he hears how she bewitched my court physician to father her bastard son. She’ll bring as much shame on his court as she’s brought to mine.”

“Arthur’s court physician is ancient and in all honesty, I can’t see Dragonara falling for a man who by all accounts never sets foot in a tavern and keeps leeches as pets. She loves a dance and a drink. I’d say Arthur’s pretty safe on the royal scandal front.”

Leofwine sprang up and hurled his dagger at Urien, who ducked just in time. “Fool! Arthur keeps a round table with lots of comely knights! She’ll make him the laughing stock of all the known kingdoms, make no mistake.”

“When do you want me to leave?” Urien said resignedly.

Leofwine chuckled, this time showing genuine mirth. “Without delay, my dear son! When you get to Castle Deira, be sure to try the wine; you’ll agree, it’s worth a king’s ransom, its taste will come as a revelation.”

“I’ve been having quite a few of those lately,” Urien muttered and picked up the dagger. His father hurriedly took a step back, but Urien merely stuck the dagger forcefully into the roast chicken on his father’s plate. Lifting the chicken and dropping it into his satchel on his way out of the tent, he cast a final glance at his father, before calling his men back to work.

 ***

On the other side of the walled fortifications...in Camelot...

 

“As the most powerful of all the magical creatures, the Queen of the Dragons commands over all the other dragons, even the Great Dragon himself. Such is her cunning and sorcery she can turn herself into anything she pleases. None have seen a dragon queen in living memory, but ancient texts tell of golden scales and a crest like silver running all the way down her spine. The ancients describe her transformation into a most beautiful maiden and warn how the dragon queen will seduce pious monks and modest scholars alike,” Gaius snorted. “A little wishful thinking by our friend Smarticus, I’d wager.”

The old physician got up and stretched his tired limbs. He opened the small window in his chambers, allowing the fresh air and sunlight to stream in. It was nearly midday and his stomach was beginning to rumble. He’d missed his supper the evening before and this morning he’d forgotten to take his breakfast. Opening a door to a pine cupboard, he rummaged through his meagre supplies and produced a stale hunk of bread and a piece of dried up cheese. He sighed. It was market day...or rather it would have been, had Leofwine’s army not arrived to cut off all supplies. A squeak reached Gaius’ dull senses and he turned around to find the door had been opened; in the doorframe stood the queen.

Gwen smiled broadly, holding out a large platter with food and a jug of ale. “I thought you might be taking a break from Smarticus and his dragons by now.”

“Gwen, you must be a mind reader! You want to watch yourself, my dear girl, or people will accuse you of sorcery!” He ushered her into the room and drew up a chair. Gwen placed the platter and jug on the overcrowded table and Gaius busied himself with finding plates, knives and tankards.

Gwen yawned and pushed a pile of books to the far end of the table. “Any luck? You look as tired as I feel. If I’m forced to read one more book on dragons, I swear to you, I’ll borrow Arthur’s armour and ride out to slay one myself.”

The old man shook his head. “Geoffrey said very much the same, although I doubt we’ll find a piece of chainmail that’ll hold his gut!”  Gaius surveyed the queen’s offerings. “It’s a veritable feast! Ham and cheese, roast fowl and pork, oh...radishes, how kind, you remembered how much I love them,” Gaius popped a juicy radish into his mouth and was instantly gripped by guilt. “Forgive me, where are my manners.” He handed her a plate and knife.

“No need to stand on ceremony on my account,” Gwen laughed. “All this servant girl’s had since yesterday is a belly full of books!” She heaped thick slices of ham and cheese onto her plate and poured ale into their tankards. “Cheers!”

Gaius stuck his nose into a loaf of bread and inhaled deeply. “Hmmmm...this bread is freshly baked! Where have all these treasures come from? Has Leofwine lifted the siege?”

Gwen’s cheeks were bulging with ham and she hurriedly took a sip from her tankard. “That’s the strangest thing. He hasn’t! This morning my maid came to me with the news that several crates with food had been delivered to the castle gates. The hounds didn’t bark and the guards swear they saw none last night; my maid says she walked past the castle gates just before day break, but there’d been nothing there.”

Gaius snatched the plate away from her. “Don’t eat any more! It might be poisoned.”

“Relax; we’ve tested everything on those useless guards and hounds. Everyone’s fine.” Gwen retrieved her plate and continued helping herself to ham and bread. “Perhaps Leofwine’s regretting his rash decision.”

“A gesture of goodwill from Leofwine? Most unlikely! The man’s clearly unhinged and quite an accomplished sorcerer, if my conclusions are right. Gwen, are you sure the guards haven’t been turned into hogs?”

“I’m quite sure, although frankly, they behaved like swine falling asleep, when they should have been protecting the citadel.”

“The hounds haven’t sprouted wings?”

“Did any fly by your window and bark? I ordered them not to. Bad doggies. Honestly Gaius, have some roast fowl and eat. What makes you think, Leofwine’s a sorcerer?”

“Most of Aurelius Smarticus’ outpourings have to be taken with a pinch of salt - that man’s far too romantic for his own good - but I’ve cross-referenced some of his assertions with the Brittonic Almanac and the diaries of Mathilda of Mercia. Smarticus was right. A dragon’s heart, especially a dragon queen’s, is immensely powerful; whoever owns such a heart can have everything they desire! In the wrong hands a dragon’s heart can lay waste to whole kingdoms in just a blink of an eye. A sorcerer would know how to make that happen.”

“Putting the five kingdom’s at Leofwine’s mercy! Wait a moment...did you say...dragon queens, Gaius?” Gwen wrinkled her nose with the effort of recall. “Just before he dozed off again Geoffrey said something about dragon queens...how did it go...oh yes...once upon a time dragons and mankind lived peacefully side by side, but when men discovered dragons had magic they strove to make use of them for their own ends. When dragons refused, men made war on the beasts to drive them out forever. Let me think...what was it again the dragon queen did to save her fellow dragons?” Gwen took another sip of ale, smacked her lips, but drew a blank. “No, sorry, it’s gone, I can’t remember.”

Gaius looked at her strangely. “I’ll ask Geoffrey when he wakes up. Meanwhile, let’s talk about this food. Where did it come from? This ham you’ve been wolfing down for example. I’d know that anywhere. It’s from Oswin’s Smokeries in Arwen. The town was ransacked two days ago by Leofwine’s army, which means we –“

“Have an ally in Leofwine’s encampment!” Gwen interrupted her friend. “But who?

Gaius pondered the question, while nibbling a slice of cheese. “What about his son Urien? He can’t be pleased with his father’s over-reaction. One day Urien’s going to be king and will inherit whatever’s left of Leofwine’s realm. From what I hear, the king has a rare talent for making enemies. Leofwine’s engaged in various squabbles with his neighbours. Rumour has it he was forced to hire mercenaries; his own men have started to desert him. Urien will be keen to retain some ties with someone as powerful as Arthur.”

“Could the lady Dragonara be our benefactor? If she’s really Arthur’s godmother, she’d want to help him, wouldn’t she?”

“I doubt she’s in the camp or anywhere near Camelot. If she were, her lord and master wouldn’t besiege us at this very moment. Perhaps Leofwine thinks we’re keeping the queen and her daughter hostage? No, I’ll eat my pestle and mortar if the lady isn’t with Arthur, he’s keeping her safe.”

“You’re right, of course. I had to give Leofwine my word we’re not holding her at Camelot, but he didn’t believe me. Whatever prompted Dragonara to leave her lord and master to seek Arthur’s help, it hasn’t disturbed Leofwine’s devotion; he’s clearly keen as mustard to have her back.” Gwen heaped said mustard on her knife and impaled another chunk of ham. She stopped in mid-bite and the ham remained hanging off the tip of her knife without being molested. Gwen dropped her knife with an exclamation. “Gaius, I’ve just remembered. Lord and master, of course!”

The old physician picked the knife off the floor, wiped the mustard off the table and returned the chunk of ham to Gwen’s plate. He cleaned the queen’s knife with a corner of his tunic. “Um...perhaps you could enlighten me...preferably without any more food wastage?”

“The dragon queen! She created dragon lords to tame the beasts rather than slay them. She hoped men and dragons would live in harmony once more. Have you ever heard of such a thing as a dragon lord being created, Gaius? I heard Uther had them all killed because they were born like that.”

“Never, it’s news to me,” Gaius said and popped another radish into his mouth, this time with genuine guilt.

“What if Leofwine knows how to use the heart to his advantage? If it’s true, Leofwine could be far more powerful than we think. As dragon lord he might command a whole army of dragons.”

Gaius shifted uncomfortably in his seat. “All of Camelot’s dragons are dead and as far as I know, there aren’t any left in the five kingdoms either.”

“Damn you Gaius, I was beginning to enjoy my lunch. You’ve just reminded me, we’re still no further finding a dragon heart than we were when all this reading frenzy started.” Gwen picked up her knife and stabbed an innocent radish so forcefully, it shot off the platter and hit Gaius’ nose.

“I see you’re growing into your role as queen quite nicely!”

“Sorry, Gaius. Here, let me wipe –“

“Your Majesty, there’s a rider at the castle’s eastern gate bringing news of King Arthur!” A guard had appeared at the chamber’s door, without either Gaius or the queen noticing.

Gwen dropped her knife for the second time and hurried out of the chamber. The guard respectfully stepped aside as the queen’s rich velvet robes swished past him. Gwen hoisted up her skirts and ran the length of the corridor to reach the main staircase and the eastern gate. Gaius ignored the mustard and ham on his floor and followed his queen as fast as his old legs would carry him to the other side of the citadel, his nose still smarting from the flying radish.

 ***

At an inn at the Merthur to Arwen road...

 

Eleanor let her legs dangle off the bed and assessed her situation. On the plus side, she had enough money to keep her in this comfortable room for at least a month. The food was plain but tasty and the landlady Eanflæd was friendly. On the downside, she counted the proximity of her current abode to Leofwine’s hunting party and encampment as well as her step-brother’s unpredictability. Who’d have thought Urien would ever go against his father’s wishes!

She pummelled a cushion into the required position and rested her head for a while. Closing her eyelids, the image of Leofwine’s castle began to rise up in her mind’s eye. Perched high upon a formidable crag, Castle Segovia was defended by lines of castellated walls that ran down the escarpment only to meet with two more lines of walled fortifications. The fortifications had no fewer than twelve gates in all directions. The gates were protected with squat, square towers from which archers were aiming at potential intruders and friendly visitors alike. For a long time now her father had neither invited nor welcomed his neighbours. Growing up at isolated Castle Segovia had not been easy and she had become accustomed to making her own entertainment and she was forced to admit it, entertainment had largely been provided by her step-brother Urien.

She’d been too young when she and her mother had first arrived at Leofwine’s fortified manor. Urien, a few years her senior, had taken the arrival of a new mother rather amiss, but had never taken his disregard for Dragonara out on his small sister. He’d taught her how to ride a horse, taught her how to hold a sword, instructed her how to aim a bow and arrow and hunt for stag. She in turn had tutored him in the art of showing outward loyalty and maintaining an inward rebellion. Now Urien had finally cast off his puppy coat and was apparently wholeheartedly embracing his new-found freedom. But could she trust him? Had he not been the one who had betrayed her mother’s confidence? It was Urien who had followed her around no matter where she went in the castle, Urien who’d spied on her mother, Urien who’d promised to keep the secret of Eliffer’s birth. Now Nechtan was dead and Eliffer lost heaven knows where. Eleanor had no worries on behalf of her mother; Dragonara always took care of herself.

Sweet Eliffer...she’d carried him in her arms when she was just a little girl herself and had played with him under Segovia’s ancient bailey, where her mother liked to sit and watch Nechtan pick sloes and elderberries for his tinctures. Nechtan the gentle giant...his strong arms would pick up both children simultaneously and he’d throw them up into the cold autumn air, catching them again, when they came tumbling down, laughing, spluttering, clamouring for more. He would kiss their cheeks and reach into the pockets of his tunic to produce honey-flavoured sweets. Kind, sweet Nechtan...

Eleanor awoke with a start. She peered outside her small window. The sun was reaching its zenith. In the room below voices were calling for Eanflæd. It was midday and the inn was beginning to fill with hungry merchants and travellers. Leofwine’s army might be stationed outside Camelot, but here at the inn life was strangely unaffected, as if Hild’s Rest was a sanctuary from man’s folly. Rubbing the sleep from her eyes, Eleanor stole to her chamber door and opened it a chink. That voice...where had she heard it before? Listening intently, Eleanor’s eyes wandered around the room, taking in her few belongings. She could be packed and ready to leave within moments. A creak from the broken step on the staircase alerted her. Somebody was coming to the upper floor!

Eleanor dived under the bed, the only hiding place in her chamber. She pulled the sheets and blankets down after her and hoped the intruder would not bother to seek below the bed. The door opened with a squeak. Eleanor held her breath. Someone stepped into the room.

“My lady? It’s me.”

Eleanor breathed a sigh of relief and scrambled out from under the bed. “Eanflæd! You scared the life out of me. What is it?”

“Beggin’ your pardon, but you did say, if anyone came callin’ for you...there’s a man down there askin’ funny questions.” Eleanor’s landlady tidied up her blonde braids with two red, work-worn hands. “Didn’t like the look of him, my lady. Not that he’s ugly; no, far from it, he’s actually quite comely, if you like that sort of thin’. I mean, size is not everythin’ and not every woman likes a huge –“

Eleanor rolled her eyes. “What did he want, Eanflæd?”

“Muscled arm squeezin’ her waist until she’s blue in the face,” Eanflæd carried on unperturbed and straightened her apron. “That one thinks he’s god’s gift to women. I for one prefer a fellow who’s sensitive and carin’. The sort who helps with the milkin’ in the mornin’ and puts the little ones to bed at night.”

“Eanflæd, will you please come to the point?”

“There’s no need to hiss like that, my lady. I told him you’d left for Arwen. Did I do right?”

Eleanor threw her arms around her landlady’s neck and kissed both her rosy cheeks. “Thank you, I shan’t forget this!”

Minutes later, after the good lady had elicited a promise of return from her peculiar houseguest, Eleanor was saddling Bede. Although her horse hadn’t had as much rest as she’d hoped for, he had been fed and watered, cleaned and brushed by Eanflæd’s attentive groom. Bede was a contented horse and would carry his mistress to wherever she desired. But where should she go? Camelot was out of the question, it was the talk of the inn what Leofwine’s army had done to Arthur’s realm. Arwen was the closest town, but it had been ransacked and now Oswiu, her step-father’s favourite officer was hunting her. She’d not dared leaving a message for Urien. His loyalty was still in question. That left only her landlady’s choice! Eanflæd had told her of a castle inhabited by some eccentric but harmless noblewomen. That’s where she would go and throw herself on the mercy of those women. Having made up her mind, Eleanor led her piebald out into the sunshine and crossed the inn’s back yard. Girl and horse passed through the back gate and crossed the brook running behind the inn without incident. Eleanor breathed in deeply. From here it was only a couple of hour’s ride back to Lake Merthur. She smiled ruefully. After all the trouble she’d taken in leaving the lake unnoticed!

She led her horse along the towpath and mounted. From Lake Merthur it was another couple of hours’ ride to Osthryth’s Fort and from there just a short gallop to Castle Deira. She’d reach the castle by early evening. Eleanor looked anxiously around, but at this time of day the brook was deserted and everyone was at the inn for their midday meal. She set off, disregarded by the merchants, labourers and grooms...but not entirely unnoticed, as she’d hoped.

Oswiu stepped out from the shade of a willow tree’s branches and led his horse slowly along the towpath. His orders were to bring the lady back to his king...but the order had not specified when he should hand her over and in what condition. Oswiu stroked his horse’s mane thoughtfully. “Let’s see where the lady’s headed. If we can bag a traitor at the same time, the reward will be even sweeter.”


	6. 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Meanwhile, at Deira Castle, Arthur faces a furry monster that seems strangely familiar. Will Arthur be taught a lesson in Behemoth today or will the monster finish him before dawn sets in? When Arthur finally realises what or rather whom he is facing, he races to rescue his friends and Merlin, only to be thrown off his feat by a huge explosion that rocks the castle to its very foundations.

If it hadn’t been for the ancient arrow slit, he’d be dead now! Only a few more lengths and Arthur would have made it to the top floor window, but the old flag had given way with a protesting screech. Arthur had only just managed to cling to the side of the tower. He watched the torn flag flutter down into the moat below, upsetting a couple of rooks on the way down.

“Lllleeeeeegggge Aaarrrgggguuurrr!” The taunts from the strange creature above kept coming, but Arthur continued his ascent, disregarding the monstrous head hovering above him. The thing looked like a cross between a boar and a Behemoth! When he was only a few lengths from the monster’s head, Arthur clamped both his feet into an arrow slit and drew Excalibur. He pointed his sword at the creature, while the fingers of his other hand tested the tower’s surface for any kind of opening or crack that would give him some leverage. After a few moments Arthur admitted defeat. At this upper part of the tower, there were no more cracks or openings, where a strong hand could find leverage and pull up the body of a man. Clinging to the side of a tower while wearing nothing more than a boy’s hose and a lady’s scarf was bad enough, but being insulted by a woolly-headed monster at the same time was taking things a step too far. Arthur sighed and thought of Gwen, who’d probably be highly amused by the situation. He wondered briefly, if he’d ever see her again. Now that the sun was up, the force of the rays was beginning to take its toll and he grunted with the effort of holding on to the side of the tower. With the back of his sword hand Arthur managed to wipe a few beads of sweat of his brow and squinted into the bright sky. The silence from above caught his attention. The monstrous head had disappeared!

Arthur’s relief was short-lived, for the monster reappeared presently and hurled something out of the window. Arthur tried to duck but the missile hit him squarely in the face without knocking him off his perch. To his surprise Arthur discovered the thing was a makeshift rope, made from a couple of sheets that someone had tied together.

Surely the monster wasn’t trying to help him reach the chamber beyond the window? He hoped one of his friends was responsible for this rescue attempt. Had he found Gawain? The sheets dangled invitingly in front of Arthur’s nose. Half bemused by this act of chivalry and half suspicious it might turn out to be a trap Arthur grabbed hold off the makeshift rope, climbed up and scrambled through the open window. Strong paws grabbed his shoulders and pulled him into the chamber, where he landed with a thump on the floor. He sprang up and swished Excalibur through the air to dissuade rather than injure any inmate within the chamber, forcing the monster to retreat by a few paces.

A quick survey revealed the chamber was empty apart from the monster and a few items of furniture. The room was a shabby but comfortable lady’s bedchamber with a four-poster bed and some old-fashioned, carved chairs, chests and tables. On a sideboard close to the window Arthur discovered a plate with food. He sniffed it and found it to be fresh. In fact, it was a breakfast fit for a prince! There was a loaf of white bread and a hunk of goat’s cheese, a dressed crab and some radishes. With a pang he realised it was ages since he’d eaten anything. He tore a chunk out of the loaf and chewed the bread gratefully, before continuing his prowl around the chamber. The bed was unmade and now missing its sheets, the heavy oak door had been forced open and was hanging off its hinges. Occasional tables and chairs had been tossed aside; the floor was littered with clothes, shoes and the shards of a broken water pitcher. The rug on the floor showed a fresh bloodstain: this was the scene of a recent struggle!

“Lllleeeeeegggge Aaarrrgggguuurrr!” The monster was clearly determined to communicate.

Arthur couldn’t help but smile, when he saw the state his new-found friend was in. Apart from a torn mail shirt, dirty linen, hose and one boot, the creature was wearing shackles and chains, which had been tied around his ankles and secured to the oak beams of the four-poster. Arthur looked around, but saw no sign of socks or the second boot. He sidled past his woolly-headed rescuer and made for the door. The creature darted forward to stop him but was instantly pulled back by the limitations of the chain. It allowed the creature to reach the sideboard and window, but not the doorway, where Arthur stood surveying the room. Seeing the relief on Arthur’s face, the monster began to frantically wave its furry arms around, its huge paws first pointing at the window, then at the bed.

Arthur shrugged his shoulders. “Sorry, I don’t speak Behemoth. I’m not ungrateful, but if you think I’m going to release you, you must be even stupider than you look.”

The monster growled and tore at its chains, pointing at Excalibur. “Lllleeeeeegggge Aaarrrgggguuurrr!”

“No matter how often you repeat this, Friend, I’m not going to set you free. There’s a good reason why somebody chained you. It’s your striking features, my Friend! I don’t wonder the lady of the house tied a fine looking fellow like you to that bedpost over there. It’s not very chivalrous to interfere with a lady’s plans, so I’m bidding you good day and take my leave. Thank you for your help with the rope, though. Oh, I must thank you for the food, too.” Arthur said with bulging cheeks. He waved a cheerful goodbye and headed once more for the door. “Fine bread...thank the lady of the house for me, there’s a good chap. Oh, don’t bother seeing me out.” He grinned and turned to leave.

“Lllleeeeeegggge Aaarrrgggguuurrr!” The first radish hit Arthur right between the shoulder blades. The second caught his left ear. He wheeled around and faced the disgruntled occupant of the bedchamber, about to strike again. The monster raised its furry paw, aimed and had fired the next missile before Arthur could dive out of the way. The third radish hit Arthur squarely between his nipples. He squinted down at the angry red patch on his chest and took a deep breath.

“Ouch, that hurt! Stop playing with your food, will you?”

“Lllleeeeeegggge Aaarrrgggguuurrr!” The fourth radish caught Arthur on the nose.

“Now look here! I haven’t got time to play,” Arthur gingerly fingered the tip of his nose. “Behave until the lady comes back. No doubt she’ll know how to tame you.” When his eyes had stopped welling up with the pain, Arthur realised there was something strangely familiar about the beast. Where on earth had he seen that tattered piece of chainmail before?

“Lllleeeeeegggge Aaarrrgggguuurrr!”The creature threw its arms in the air and started to wail, when Arthur took one step across the threshold. Sinking to the floor, the monster kept pointing at Excalibur, before hugging its knees tightly and beginning to wail. Arthur merely shrugged his shoulders, but the creature shot up, darted over to the sideboard and snatched the dressed crab.

“Don’t you dare!” Arthur raised his arms to shield his face. To his surprise no fishy missile arrived. He peered cautiously through his fingers and gasped.

Balancing on one leg, the monster had stuck the crab to its big toe and held its fishy foot up into the air! “Lllleeeeeegggge Aaarrrgggguuurrr!”

“Whatever next? Juggling? You’re quite the entertainer, aren’t you?”

By way of a reply his new friend hurled the crab at the wall, where it left a greasy stain before sliding down to the sideboard below and landing with a clang on the platter. The creature sank back to the floor and started to tear out its fur from an abundant supply on its head and bat-like ears, letting the tufts drift through the open window on a current of fresh air. Temporarily disarmed by the picture of misery before him, Arthur risked a step closer. The creature immediately lunged at him, grabbed his legs and brought him down, before wrestling Excalibur from his hands. The woolly-headed rescuer shot up and backed away towards the bed, holding the sword with the expertise of a man at arms. Instead of slicing his head off as expected, Arthur discovered the creature was swishing the sword through the air in a fashion that was as familiar to Arthur as his own daily gripe concerning the lack of attention paid to His Majesty’s bath water was to his servant Merlin. There was only ONE knight in all of Camelot who held a sword like that!

“No! It can’t be...Gawain? Is that you?”

“Lllleeeeeegggge Aaarrrgggguuurrr!” The creature dropped Excalibur, thumped its barrel chest and opened its arms to give Arthur a bear hug that squeezed the air from his lungs and left him gasping. It took Arthur a moment or two to recover. Holding him at arms’ length, the hog-nosed Gawain eyed Arthur keenly and pointed at the shackles around his furry feet.

“You’re right. It’s obvious when I think about it.” Arthur grinned from ear to ear. “Chained to a lady’s bedpost...that could only happen to you!” He struck at Gawain’s chains and Excalibur set the woolly-headed knight free. “Who did this to you? No, forget I asked. A knight of the round table doesn’t kiss and tell.” Arthur’s hand clamped Gawain’s snout shut, before the knight could utter another wail. “Show me, where have the trolls taken the others?”

By way of a reply Gawain grabbed Arthur’s hand and shook it solemnly, before dragging him through the doorway and down the spiral staircase at tremendous speed.

“Wwwwitcheeees, Aaarrrgggguuurrr.” Gawain growled, taking three steps at once.

“Please, let’s not have another lesson in Behemoth!”

“Mmmmmrrrrlllleeennn!”

“Who needs lessons? I’m fluent already!” Arthur panted after his friend. “Don’t tell me, my dollop-headed servant’s in trouble again.” They reached the final step of the spiral stair case and shrank into a dark niche. “Just wait until I get my hands on him! Merlin left me without a stitch to wear at that lake,” Arthur pointed at his inadequate hose. “You wouldn’t happen to know where the trolls left my breeches?”

Gawain snorted and put two fat, furry digits to what passed as his lips, urging Arthur to silence.

Two guards watched the entrance from across the courtyard. “What we need is a little distraction.” Grinning, Arthur pushed Gawain out into the yard, where the startled guards first eyed the creature with alarm, then with unbridled amusement.

“Bless me, they’ve certainly done for you, mate! Not up to the ladies’ standards, were you? Don’t take it to heart, Friend, rumour has it our leader Unding got his fine looks for the same reason!” The guards burst out laughing, pointing their fingers at Gawain’s bat-ears and wild boar snout. They came closer and tried to finger the tufty tips of his ears. Coyly, Gawain tried to evade their advances, covering his ears with his paws. Roaring with laughter, the men tried to tickle Gawain’s woolly chin instead, but he fought them off and they started to chase him around the courtyard.

When the merry gang came hurtling past his hidey-hole for the second time, Arthur stepped out of his niche and rapped the guards smartly on the head with Excalibur’s broadside, while Gawain finished them off with a left hook on the chin.

“Clllltttpppplllls!”

“I couldn’t have put it better myself, Gawain!”

A loud BANG like an explosion shattered the peace of the now quiet courtyard. Gawain dragged the two guards into the niche by the stairs and raced after Arthur into the castle’s interior where the echo of cries and the clamour of battle threatened to drown out the tremor and noise of a second explosion.


	7. 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Merlin and the knights are determined to free themselves from the clutches of the witches and trolls. They decide on an all out battle at Deira Castle's great hall - this plan somewhat misfires. Ethelgunda still believes Merlin to be the promised princeling, the one the witches have been waiting for. She rips out Merlin's hair and adds it to her magic brew - unexpectedly, the cauldron explodes, unable to take so much magical force in one go. The knights take the opportunity and flee - without noticing that three strangers have entered the castle undetected and are lurking in the dungeons, no doubt for mischief of their own.

In the great hall at Castle Deira....

 

“You take the women. We’ll tackle the trolls!”

Sir Leon dropped his sword by a fraction and stared at his friend Elyan. “Which is which?”

“The trolls are less lumpy in their upper regions,” suggested Percival helpfully, before smacking a troll over the head with the broadside of his sword. The troll grunted, shook his head and attacked afresh.

“I can’t fight the women! I’m no good at hair pulling and biting. That’s what we’ve got Merlin for. Where is he by the way?” Sir Leon stood on his toes to peer over the heads of their attackers. A troll guard used his chance and kicked Sir Leon in the shins.

“Ouch! Was that manly, you lout? I might as well be fighting the girls!” Affronted, Sir Leon rubbed his leg with his left hand and dealt the troll a blow with his right. The guard staggered back, turned in mid-air and fell headlong into a fresh wave of trolls arriving from another part of the castle. “Any more of you ladies fancy a piece of my action?” Sir Leon challenged the troll next in line for a pummelling.

The guards had driven the knights into a corner of the great hall, where the friends stood back to back with their swords raised. Sir Leon’s head wound had started bleeding again and Sir Elyan’s cheek was marred by a nasty gash. The hall was filling up with trolls and the knights were too busy repelling their attackers to notice the three sisters, who were lighting another fire under the cauldron.

Sir Elyan grabbed a scaly arm and ducked, narrowly averting a blow from the troll’s mace. “Actually, that’s a good point, Leon. Our Merlin may not be a fighter, but he never misses the chance to fraternise with the locals. I’d call this a golden opportunity - so where is the lad?”

“Merlin was in the courtyard with me, before he ran onto the drawbridge. Arthur’s here...last seen enjoying a swim in the moat,” Percival panted, deftly parrying a sword attack by two huge trolls. “He must be with Arthur.”

Elyan punched a guard squarely between the eyes. “What’s Arthur playing at? They’d better not be sitting on the drawbridge with a fishing rod, when we get out of here!”

“Don’t you mean...IF?” Ethelgunda had parted the horde of trolls with a flick of her head and approached the knights. “Your friends Arthur and Merlin will be taken care of, don’t you fret, just as we took care of your friend Gawain. You might as well stop all this nonsense now. Look around you! Sooner or later all men who come here join our little family.” She glanced around the hall with a benign smile. “Don’t we take good care of you, my pets?” The troll guards nodded to a man, albeit after a moment’s hesitation, which didn’t escape Sir Leon’s notice.

“What do you mean...all MEN?” Sir Leon pointed at the ugliest of the trolls. “That fellow over there is even uglier than our cook at Camelot and that’s saying something. You’ll not convince me that’s a man! Just look at his tufty ears.”

Marigold and Yolanda risked a few steps forward. “We’re not to blame, if they turn out looking like that. It’s their own fault! The more they mock us, the uglier they turn out in the end. That’s the curse, don’t you see?”

Marigold twisted a strand of hair between her fingers and pouted. She eyed the knights one by one until her glance came to rest on Percival, who retreated to the safety of his circle of friends, but he wasn’t fast enough. Marigold darted forward, reached out and patted his biceps. “Oh my goodness, aren’t you a strong one?”

Seeing the blood rise to his friend’s cheeks, Sir Leon intervened. “Look, we can stand here all day and decimate your troll herd or you can let us go, your choice,” he detached Marigold’s probing fingers from Percival’s chest. “Just give us back our friends and we’ll go quietly.”

“You don’t understand. Even if we wanted to...we can’t. Nobody leaves this castle as they were, once they’ve set foot in it!” Yolanda sighed and looked Sir Leon straight in the face. “We’re cursed and with it every man who falls for our charms.”

Percival snorted. “Charms?” Marigold’s stare seared him like a branding iron; he recovered his wits and coughed. “Uhm...I meant to say...surely three charming young ladies like you couldn’t possibly be cursed. Who’d do such a thing?”

“Leofwine!” The three sisters replied as one.

“Who’s he when he’s at home?” Sir Elyan wiped the sweat from his face. “Don’t tell me he’s the woolly-headed creature we’ve just tied up in my lady’s bedchamber?”

Ethelgunda chortled and walked slowly back to the hearth, where her cauldron had begun to steam. “King Leofwine and his second wife Dragonara, who is godmother to your King Arthur, are both sorcerers. It’s thanks to them we’re in this sorry state.”

“We’re going to be saved now, aren’t we, sister?” Marigold beamed at Percival before Yolanda pulled her away from the circle of swords.

Ethelgunda responded with a mirthless cackle. “We’ll see.” She reached out and sprinkled some of Merlin’s hair into the bubbling broth of her cauldron. “Let’s not get our hopes up, just yet.”

Like the night before the broth started to boil and spit; smoke rose up and an explosion followed that nearly shattered their ear drums. The three sisters were flattened by the impact of the blow and landed on their backs several yards from the hearth. Some trolls were hit by falling masonry and the rest abandoned their siege and left the friends to their fate. Ethelgunda lunged at a fleeing leg and brought the traitor down. The troll hit the ground, nearly blinding Yolanda with his dagger. Yolanda clouted him on the back until he rolled off her and both troll and sister were able to rise. The troll mumbled an apology, but Ethelgunda barked a string of insults at the hapless guard and he hurried off to stop his fellow guards from leaving.

Black smoke filled the hall and Sir Leon urged his friends towards the door, but they had missed their chance; it was once again blocked by guards who had turned to come to their mistresses’ aid. Ethelgunda and Yolanda had already scrambled to their feet, but Marigold was still buried under a piece of masonry.

Disregarding their stricken sister, Ethelgunda and Yolanda bounced back to the cauldron and the elder sister threw the remainder of Merlin’s hair into the steaming liquid. “This will be a brew that’ll make your eyes water, boys!” Yolanda screamed over the din in the hall.

Ethelgunda gave the cauldron’s contents a stir and sniffed the rising smoke. A jet of brown liquid shot straight up into the air and hit her in the face. She squealed with pain and dropped the ladle, spattering everyone around her with the broth. The cauldron began to shake and tremble. Ethelgunda danced around the hall, howling loudly, her hands pressed to her face, while Yolanda picked up the ladle and gave the broth another stir.

A second spout shot up; however, this time the cook was prepared and Yolanda stepped smartly out of the way. The liquid landed back in the cauldron with a splash. A rumbling followed, which turned into a growl that resembled an angry bear about to attack. Everyone was staring at the hearth, waiting with baited breath for the next blow. When the growl turned into a thunderous roar, a second explosion followed and this time it brought down the rest of the marble mantelpiece and part of the ceiling. Men, trolls and sisters were either knocked off their feet by falling masonry or flattened by oak panels that came off the walls and shot across the hall like missiles. Everyone was covered in broth.

When the smoke began to clear, Sir Elyan scrambled to his feet and wiped the liquid off his nose. “Phew, that’s worse than Gawain’s socks!” He put a finger to his mouth and tried the stuff. “Hmmm, it tastes far better than it smells. Just like Merlin’s stews...but without the bits of rabbit fur to spoil the texture.”

Sir Leon rushed over and tore Elyan’s hand away. “Don’t! It might be poison or worse...witchcraft! You could end up looking like one of them.” The sweep of Sir Leon’s hands included both the sisters and the trolls buried under the rubble.

 “Don’t fret! The worst it’ll do is put some hairs on your chest.” First to regain her wits, Yolanda picked up a piece of marble and hurled it at the knights. “Ethelgunda’s potions never work out.” She started sobbing. “We’ll be stuck here forever!”

Marigold was beginning to regain consciousness and sat up in a puddle of broth. Her dusty hair was glued to her face, the page of a book stuck to the back of her head. She began to wail. “Forever? I can’t bear it...I just caaaaaaaaan’t!”

Several of the trolls stood rooted to the spot and stared at the sisters with open mouths. One troll tip-toed over to Marigold and tried to put his arm around her shoulders, but she shook him off and punched him on the nose, continuing her wailing undeterred. Sir Leon shook his head. Why did the trolls bother with the sisters? It was ludicrous given the treatment they received in return. Meanwhile, Percival seized his opportunity and began fighting his way through to the door. He knocked out three trolls but was instantly surrounded by more.

Sir Leon came to his rescue and yelled: “Watch our backs, Elyan!”

“Will do...just as soon as I’ve helped this lovely lady back on her feet,” Elyan grinned back at his friends and sauntered over to Marigold, who stopped wailing and stared at Elyan’s face instead. He pulled her up roughly, slung her over his shoulder in one swift motion and used her legs as a battering ram to create a corridor wide enough for him and his friends to reach the door. Trolls were scattered left and right, as Marigold’s feet and buttocks collided with shoulders and heads. She screamed in protest but Elyan took no notice, no matter how hard her fists pounded the back of his legs.

The knights made it out of the door and down the dark corridor in one piece, but a horde of guards pursued them, forcing the friends, screaming Marigold and all, to hurtle down a flight of stairs and flee into the bowels of the castle.

“I have a feeling they’re driving us down into the dungeons!” Elyan panted under Marigold’s weight. He’d finally caught up with his friends.

Sir Leon turned his head but didn’t slow his pace. “Let’s not give them the pleasure. If we can make it out into the courtyard and to the stables...look! How about that set of stairs, where’ll it take us?” He pointed at a spiral staircase leading up, rather than down. Sir Leon stopped in his tracks without warning and half turned, causing Percival and Elyan to run straight into him at speed. Thanks to the force of their collision Elyan dropped his battering ram. Marigold squealed in protest; her head collided with a statue of Saint Winifred the Placid, lurking by the stairs. She tried to crawl away, but was too slow and Elyan’s boot pinned her to the flagstones.

He looked down at the prostrate woman and grimaced. “First time ever I’m grateful to a monk for depriving me of a woman.” Elyan rubbed the back of his legs. “The lady’s stronger than she looks.”

“Stop flirting and tell me, which way’s our best chance of escape!” Sir Leon turned and gasped. He stared at his friend. “What’s happened to your face?”

“What?” Elyan carelessly ran his fingers through his hair. “I’m just as dusty as you are and if I’m a little sweaty...well, so would you be, if you had to carry this...erm,” Elyan bent down and hoisted Marigold up by her girdle,“...delightful burden.” He shifted her weight on his shoulder and slapped her bottom to keep her still. She retaliated by biting his thigh. “What are we waiting for? Let’s go before this greedy woman takes another chunk out of me!”

Percival pushed past Leon, took the first couple of steps, hesitated, turned around and reached with one arm across Sir Leon’s head. “This is dust, is it, Elyan?” He grabbed the knight’s nose between index finger and thumb, pulling a long strand of hair up into the air. “I can’t wait to see Arthur’s face when he discovers you’re sporting a golden nose beard.”

Elyan squinted cross-eyed at the glittering strand of hair growing from his beak. “What the hell is THAT?”

“THAT, my uncivil knight, is the curse! You’re turning into one of them!” Marigold pointed at Unding, who had just appeared at the top of the stairs. “Unding, don’t just stand there gawping. Chop their heads off!”

“With pleasure, my lady!” Unding lunged forward and thundered down the stairs. “I’ve just about had my fill of uninvited guests today!”

Behind them in the corridor the guards were catching up.

“Damn! We’re trapped!”

“No, we’re not, Leon! On three, Percival! One...two...three!” Elyan tore Marigold off his shoulder and hurled her at the guards behind them. Her unexpected arrival in their arms sent the men flying; a confusion of troll arms and legs flattened Marigold and knocked her out.

Clearly not wishing to be outdone by his friend, Percival stretched out his arm, taking full advantage of Unding’s speedy descent down the stairs. The impact of Unding’s nose on Percival’s fist sent blood splashing across the walls. The leader of the trolls tumbled down the final steps and landed on my lady Marigold, where he lost consciousness among her ample bosoms.

“At least he had a soft landing!” Percival grinned. “Let’s not hang around to find out what the lady thinks of his advances.” He bounded up the spiral stair case with his friends in hot pursuit.

Thanks to the gloom in the bowels of Castle Deira none of the friends noticed a door being opened at the far end of the corridor. A hooded man stepped outside and considered the carnage at the bottom of the stairs for a moment, before grabbing a torch from one of the wall sconces. He turned back towards the half-open door and motioned to the inmates of the chamber to follow him.

Stepping over the unconscious bodies, the hooded man and his two companions crept silently towards the lowest part of the castle, where the wine cellar, dungeons and torture chamber were waiting to be used as her ladyship Ethelgunda pleased.

The three men reached a heavily studded oak door with carvings that seemed older than the castle itself. The hooded man reached out with a gloved hand and tore at the door’s handle. The door opened with a great deal of protest, squeaking so alarmingly, the men feared it would come off its hinges. It remained intact, however, and the men stole down a set of stairs that was as dark as the catacombs below Camelot. At the end of the stairs the men turned right and followed a dark passageway into the very heart of the castle. They came to another door, even older than the one on the floor above; this one was covered in runes.

“We’ve arrived, my friends!” The leader pulled the door open and raised his torch. The swift movement caused his hood to slide from his head and fall to his shoulders. He ignored it and stuck his torch into the chamber. The dancing flame lit up his face and blonde hair as if he had a halo. He turned and motioned his companions to enter the chamber. “Over there, let’s grab it and get out of here! For heaven’s sake don’t open it, whatever you do!”


	8. 8

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Arthur, Eliffer and Dragonara finally make it to the edges of the forest, where they come across Castle Deira. With a little "help" from Dragonara King Arthur has made it into the castle - via the moat, leaving the colourful girl's blouse behind he wore to his great embarrassment. Merlin, trying to protect Arthur from a deadly Troll's attack, finds the blouse and fears the worst. Has Arthur been injured, killed even? Dragonara wants to keep Eliffer safe, but when Hengist the horse runs off and across the drawbridge into the enchanted castle, Eliffer follows, leaving Dragonara no choice but to come to his - and everybody else's rescue. She meets Merlin for the first time, realising he has magic, just like herself. He doesn't trust her and as they enter the bowels of the castle together, he tests her mettle. Soon they face a dangerous hooded assassin together - will she come to Merlin's aid when he is attacked?

By the moat, outside Castle Deira....

 

Startled by the noise, Eliffer awoke and rubbed his eyes. “Where are we? Where’s Eleanor?” Yawning, he used the stirrup to balance himself and slid from the saddle like an eel trying to escape from a fisherman’s basket. He landed head first on the ground next to Hengist and the animal, now free to do as it pleased, began to graze on the embankment.

Dragonara stood at the outer edge of the reed bed and stared into the water. On the drawbridge across the moat a dark-haired boy was doing just the same. Eliffer ran to his protector and put an arm around her waist. “Who’s that boy over there?”

Absentmindedly, Dragonara wrapped her arm around Eliffer’s shoulders and sighed. “THAT’s no boy, Eliffer. THAT, if I’m not very much mistaken, is none other than Merlin.”

“Erm...are there two?” Eliffer’s eyes widened. “A blonde and a dark-haired one...does the King of Camelot call all his servants Merlin to keep things simple?”

Dragonara threw her head back and laughed. “I bet Arthur wished he’d thought of that!”

“In that case, our Merlins are either two sides of the same coin or a famous double act from Odin’s court!” Eliffer grinned. “Eleanor tells me some courts keep excellent jesters.”

“Don’t you mean master and servant from Camelot?”

“But which is which, my lady?”

“Good question, Eliffer,” Dragonara finally detached her gaze from the water’s edge and directed it towards the drawbridge, where Merlin had picked up a lance and attempted to fish for the embroidered shirt still floating in the moat. The dark-haired boy managed to impale the garment and lifted the dripping shirt out onto the bridge where it landed with splash.

“He’s got Eleanor’s blouse! But...didn’t the other Merlin wear it earlier?”

“Yes Eliffer; I fear King Arthur’s as slippery as a snake. Now he’s shed his unwanted servile skin, he’s slithered off somewhere...but where?”

The goings-on at the water’s edge enraged a kingfisher trying to hunt for fish on the other side of the moat. An azure flash of light shot through the air and he was gone – to the obvious relief of a dragonfly, which soared up from the morning mist among the reeds, its incandescent wings reflecting the shimmering water below and the blue sky above.

Becoming fully aware of woman and boy for the first time, Merlin gave a hesitant wave and Dragonara waved back. Uncertain, if he should go to her or return to the castle to search for Arthur, whose pale body he’d seen shoot through the moat as fast as a pike pursuing a juicy three-spine stickling, Merlin decided to stay where he was and let the lady come to him. Unfortunately, the lady had just decided on the same cautious action and they’d reached a stalemate before introductions had even begun.

It was Hengist who took the initiative. He had detected the scent of freshly baked bread on the morning breeze. Unable to resist the temptation, Hengist erroneously identified Merlin as the source of such culinary delights and galloped towards the drawbridge. Merlin saved himself from being trampled by jumping over the railing and clinging on to the sides, where he remained dangling just a couple of feet above the water, while above him Hengist whinnied to express his disappointment and raced off on his quest for food. The horse’s hooves cluttered across the drawbridge, through the gate and past the raised portcullis into the outer courtyard.

“Noooooo! Hengist, stupid boy, come here!” Eliffer ran onto the drawbridge in pursuit of his horse. Dragonara had no choice but to follow.

“Now what?” Merlin scratched his thatch of hair and gawped after the boy. When he saw the lady approach at some speed, he hoisted himself up and over the railing. She had been faster than he had anticipated and they collided. He landed with a thud at Dragonara’s feet, while the lady had to steady herself by holding on to the bridge’s palings. Merlin scrambled up and bowed deeply, but the lady seemed oblivious to his presence. She stared at a point beyond his prostrate figure and the soggy shirt he was still holding in his hand. Merlin flashed a radiant smile up at her and hoped for the best. Time seemed to stand still; the shirt made a puddle on the bridge, the sun rose a little higher, the mist across the moat vanished, while Dragonara’s green eyes kept staring into space.

Merlin coughed politely, straightened to his full height and this time held out his hand to assist the lady across the bridge. “You must be Arthur’s godmother. I’m his servant Merlin. At your service, Your Majesty.” Dragonara ignored both hand and servant.

“Be still, you worm!” She cried. Two reed-warblers nesting in the reed bed below Merlin discontinued their chirpy song; a couple of sedge warblers darted up into the air and tweeted excitedly. Merlin started and dropped his outstretched hand. The lady’s response was not what he had expected. Instead of a polite nod or queenly hand gesture Merlin was greeted by blazing eyes and flaring nostrils. Had he offended her in some way?

She raised her hand and he was about to duck a blow, when he realised, she was aiming at a spot behind him. He turned quickly and caught his breath when he spotted an outstretched arm clutching a dagger.

One of the semi-conscious trolls littering the bridge behind him had reached up to stab Merlin’s thigh. Dragonara’s eyes lit up as she muttered her incantation. “Time to rest your eyes, little worm.” The troll’s head sank back on his chest and he fell asleep instantly, collapsing in a heap.

 “You’ve got magic!”

“So do you, boy!” Dragonara inclined her head towards the sleeping troll and the bump growing on his forehead. “I saw how you made the armour dance to save your master.”

Merlin shook his head. “That was child’s play. You saved Arthur! He’d have drowned, if you hadn’t –“

“Don’t count your princelings before they’re safely back at home. We’ve no idea if Arthur’s safe. For all I know my spell might have transported him straight into that catapult’s claw up there on the gallery.” Dragonara ducked with an expression of mock consternation. “If the uppermost gallery was guarded, your king could be hurtling past our ears at any moment.”

Merlin shaded his eyes and gazed up to the castle’s mangonel. After a moment’s contemplation he shook his head decisively. “Nope, Arthur hasn’t discovered the joys of air travel, yet. Seriously though, thank you! I don’t know what I’d have done if you hadn’t –“

“From what I hear you’re quite a resourceful young man; I’m sure you would have thought of something to save Arthur’s hide, no matter how ungrateful my godson might be in his response.”

Merlin grimaced. “Ah, he knows about your magic?”

“If he wasn’t sure before, he is now! Heavens above, I haven’t performed such a powerful spell for years. He shot through the water with the speed of a lightning bolt. Can’t have done his handsome features any good! Perhaps it would’ve been kinder to let him drown?”

“Arthur’s got a hard head on his shoulders; I’m sure he’ll be fine.” Merlin scratched his nose. “You won’t...I mean...he doesn’t know about my practicing –“

“What? Washing my daughter’s shirts in the moat?” Dragonara smiled and took the dripping blouse from his hands. “Your secret’s safe with me, Merlin. On that you have my word. Which reminds me, our other mutual and equally magical secret...did he send word? I assumed Kilgharrah had arranged for an official escort from Camelot to meet me by the lake, when Arthur turned up.” Her face assumed an air of joyful reminiscence. “Not quite the formal rescue party I had expected. Of course, it’s not the first time a king has greeted me in his birthday suit, but it’s usually after and not before we’ve had dinner.” Dragonara giggled, when Merlin’s eyebrows disappeared into his fringe.

He felt blood rising to his cheeks and hastily fished for the scroll of parchment in his – or rather Arthur’s – cloak. He handed the scroll to Dragonara. “Arthur received this. You know of Kilgharrah?”

“Oh yes, scaly head and I are old, old friends.”

Merlin’s eyes widened. “You’ve been to Camelot...before or after Ygraine’s death? Forgive my curiosity. It’s just...nobody’s ever mentioned you since I’ve been at court.”

“You mean, how could a sorceress walk away unscathed from Uther’s kingdom? Ask your friend Kilgharrah. I last saw Arthur on the day he was born. He’s not turned out too badly considering his paternal credentials. Guinevere’s a lucky girl. None of my royal husbands were ever blessed with such...uuhm...regalia.”

She threw back her head and laughed so heartily, the silver hair pin holding her red-blonde mane fell out and her long hair began tumbling down over her shoulders and purple cloak. Merlin hurriedly bent down to pick up the hair pin and held it out to her with an unsteady hand. She dropped her daughter’s wet shirt and took the richly decorated pin from him with an amused air, her fingers brushing his for a moment. He withdrew respectfully and she lifted her arms, twisting her long tresses into a bun before securing her unruly mane with the pin. Merlin followed the graceful, upward motion of her slender arms with his eyes and wondered briefly, what she might look like in her queenly robes and wimple, sitting on a throne. He’d never met anyone who looked less like a godmother, let alone a mother and stay-at-home wife. To his astonishment he felt her gaze travelling up and down his own person and realised she was assessing him just as much as he was trying to gauge her. When their gaze met, Merlin felt his ears burning. Dragonara flashed a smile at him and strode off to the other side of the bridge, tactfully allowing him to regain his composure.

He picked up the dripping shirt once more and quickly turned around to wring out the garment. Eyeing her over his shoulder, he could see she was highly diverted by his embarrassment. Dragonara started to uncurl the scroll, but before she had a chance to look at the message, Eliffer had re-appeared at the gate and asked them to hurry. She handed the parchment back to Merlin, who stuffed wet blouse and parchment into his shirt and they ran as fast as the scattered bodies on the bridge would allow them. Out of breath, they joined Eliffer at the foot of the gatehouse.

The boy pointed excitedly to one of the flanking towers. “Up there by that tower, where the flag was just a moment ago! I saw him! The other Merlin’s safe!”

Doubtful of Eliffer’s interpretation of the word “safe”, Merlin squinted upwards, but the flag and whoever the boy had seen were no longer there.

“You’ve been imagining things, boy. There’s nobody there.” Dragonara laid an arm around the boy’s shoulder and sighed. “Let’s find Hengist and see what kind of welcome we’ll get inside.”

“Judging by the look of them,” Eliffer pointed at the stricken trolls littering the outer courtyard, “the welcome might be a little subdued.”

Hengist waited patiently for them in the stables. He had discovered a stack of hay and was contently munching his way through a considerable amount of it. When they entered, he swiped away a fly with his long tail and whinnied a greeting. Merlin couldn’t help but admire the black beast. He ran his hands over Hengist’s sweaty back and vaguely regretted having knocked out the trolls earlier. The stables were full to bursting point with the guards’ and the knights’ horses. Having a groom would be handy, even if he was a troll and stank to high heaven!

As if reading his mind, Dragonara instructed Eliffer to take care of Hengist and to secure the knights’ horses. She told him of a hiding place nearby and left him in possession of her own sword. After some initial protests at not being allowed to join the quest for Arthur and his men, Eliffer acknowledged the advantages of her scheme. He had discovered the stables were adjacent to animal pens, where happy chickens had produced a considerable number of eggs just waiting to be turned into breakfast.

Pressing his body into a spot of shade by the gatehouse wall, Merlin waited in the outer courtyard. He squinted up into the bright sky and wondered how long the weather would hold. It was only an hour past dawn, but the sun’s rays had already burned off the mist rising up from the moat and surrounding fields. He wiped a bead of sweat from his upper lip and turned to find suitable weapons for the lady and himself. Selecting an old-fashioned broad sword and a mace from an unconscious guard, Merlin and Dragonara hurried across the courtyard and dived into the nearest dark entrance and down a set of stairs in search of Arthur and his men.

They found themselves in a long, badly-lit corridor which was in as bad a condition as the courtyard and towers. Dust reigned everywhere and cobwebs clung to the moth-eaten tapestries on the walls. Merlin managed to suppress the urge to sneeze, but was eventually startled into a loud nasal explosion, when a rat raced across his feet and shot down a gap in the flagstones. Dragonara shook her head, raising a finger to her lips. “Do you want the guards to find us?”

“I couldn’t help it. There was a rat.” Merlin whispered back and followed her down the stairs into the next gloomy corridor. “Haven’t they heard of wall sconces or torches? The death rate among their servants must be high; you could break your neck on these rotten stairs.”

His companion answered with a stifled squeal. “Why don’t we just holler for the guards?” Merlin snorted. Dragonara grimaced and lifted her foot; she’d trodden on an enormous bug, its slimy entrails stuck to the sole of her boot.

“Lunare.” She pointed a finger at a couple of lances hanging on an adjacent wall. They lit up like torches and Dragonara handed one to Merlin, who took the torch with a frown.

“The one time I can practice magic openly and I forget!”

“I guess you were too busy playing with rats.”

“No, I got distracted by somebody squealing like a little girl at the sight of a bug.”

Progressing more quickly than Merlin, who kept his eyes to the ground in case anymore rats or giant bugs made an appearance, Dragonara won the lead and disappeared down an even narrower hallway, before Merlin could catch up with her. Merlin shuddered. The passage stank of rat urine and he called after Dragonara to turn back, but he saw her torch disappear at the end of the corridor and turn left. Disregarding the threat of rat attack, he hurried after her, squishing several prize specimens of bugs under his boots as he made his way along the hallway.

He was just passing a heavily studded door at the far end of the corridor, when a strong arm shot out and grabbed Merlin’s wrist, forcing him to follow the arm’s owner into a small chamber. Before Merlin could turn or call out, somebody had clamped a hand over his mouth; Merlin struggled for breath. He tried to wriggle free but succeeded merely in the man pinching his nose between index finger and thumb, bringing tears to Merlin’s eyes and cutting off his air completely.

When the man finally released his nose, Merlin wasn’t sure, if he should be grateful or not. The chamber stank of sweat, rat droppings and ale. Across the room somebody lit a candle and placed it on the floor. The faint light revealed an unmade bed and a couple of over-sized slippers together with a small opening that doubled up as a window into the next corridor. It appeared to be the only source of ventilation. A tattered mail shirt and hose had been flung across the bed and on the wash stand by the door Merlin noticed a water pitcher, bowl and something that looked very much like a lady’s scarf. On a small wooden chest, next to the bed, Merlin spotted a plate with bread, onions and cheese. His stomach gave an involuntary growl. A half-full tankard of wine and a flask had been left behind by the rightful occupant of the chamber, too. In the furthest corner of the room a shadow detached itself from the wall and came slowly towards Merlin. Were these Unding’s private quarters? Had the lead troll finally caught up with him?

The shadow came closer, temporarily blocking out the candle. The man holding him tightened his grip across Merlin’s mouth. Merlin grunted with the effort to break free. The man’s other arm reached across Merlin’s chest and held him with such force, it threatened to squeeze the remaining air out of his lungs.

“I’ll remove my hand, if you keep quiet. Make a sound and you’ll regret it.” A muffled voice hissed into his ear. He felt the man’s hot breath on his neck. Merlin managed to nod his head. The man removed his hand and pushed Merlin roughly into the middle of the chamber, where the dark shadow caught him and held him with a bear-like grip that could have crushed Merlin at any moment. Merlin raised his chin defiantly and peered into the darkness.

“Now what? Your feisty friend breaks my spine?” Merlin felt his limbs go numb. “Or is he going to hand me over to the three fat women in the hall?”

“Not unless you want him to!” The man, who had nearly choked him, now stood with his back to the door. He was wearing an oversized cloak and a coat of mail beneath; his features were hidden by a hood. “Before I decide what to do with you, my friend here will help you to decide what’s good for you. I’m looking for something and you look like the fellow with all the answers.”

“Can’t be much fun working for the three crones?” Merlin took another approach. “My master’s rich, if it’s gold you want in exchange for my life? I’m his favourite servant. You could leave this place and start over somewhere else.”

The man snorted. Merlin tried to get a better look, but his attacker had drawn the hood over his face. The stranger took a step towards Merlin, who shrank back, only to be gripped even tighter by the stranger’s companion. When the two sides of the stranger’s cloak parted, Merlin caught the gleam of a sword. The man came closer still and pointed his gloved finger at Merlin’s face.

“A favourite servant, you don’t say!” The man tapped Merlin’s forehead with his finger. “You’ve got the words LAZY and USELESS written all over your face. No master would give a single penny for such an underling! Then again, who knows, the ladies upstairs might find a use for you!”

Something in the tone of that hoarse voice caught Merlin’s ear. “I’m not really in the mood for romance right now; perhaps introductions to your three ugly sisters could wait?”

“I’ve only got one sister and she’s far too much of a handful for the likes of you!”

“You’d be surprised what I can handle!” Merlin muttered under his breath. As if to prove him wrong, the man’s silent companion pushed Merlin back into the stranger’s arms and the two men found some amusement tossing Merlin back and forth between them, until Merlin used his full weight to step on the man’s toes. Merlin shot across the room and tried to get to the door, but the stranger’s companion was too quick and blocked his way.

“Aw, it fights back!” The hooded stranger hobbled across the room and dropped onto the bed. He rubbed his foot and grunted. “We’d better watch our step, my friend. He might be pulling our hair next.”

The companion by the door emitted a howl, which Merlin assumed was meant to be laughter. Standing in the middle of the chamber, Merlin looked around hoping to spot the mace he’d had earlier, which the stranger had confiscated, when he’d drawn him into the room. Trying to gain time, Merlin pointed at the stranger’s silent companion. “He doesn’t say much, does he?”

“Don’t you believe it! Given half a chance, there’s no shutting him up. Now, listen. There’s something I’ve lost and I want it back. Are you going to help me or do I have to apply a suitable inducement first?” The hooded stranger’s voice had become menacing again. He drew his sword and placed it on the bed next to him. “What would your master say if he saw you now? Idling away the day in a castle full to bursting point with eager ladies...when you should be polishing his armour and sharpen his sword.”

“My master would say you talk too much, you puffed up dollop-head!” Merlin had spotted the mace and pounced on it, before the silent companion had a chance to dash across the room. Merlin raised his arm and swung the mace around. Alarmed, the stranger dropped to the flagstones and dived under the bed. The silent companion lunged at Merlin, who brought down the mace with force, but missed his intended target. He had smashed the washstand in half instead of hitting the bed. There was no chance of swinging the mace again - the bear-like grip of the silent companion wrought the mace from Merlin’s hands and sent him crashing down to join the hooded man on the floor.


	9. 9

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Merlin and Arthur are finally reunited. Together with their furry friend and Dragonara they hold a council of war. How can they free the knights - and what is this enchantment that's affecting everyone in the castle? Two powerful explosion rock the castle, our friends rush to the aid of the beleaguered knights. When Gawain discovers the origin of the enchantment, Dragonara is finally forced to reveal the source of the magick and the terrible revenge Leofwine inflicted on the inmates of Castle Deira and the three sisters who spurned his advances when he was a young man. As Arthur's attempts to free his knights, his efforts are slightly hampered by the fact that the witches and their troll guards, not to mention their gigantic dog, have now surrounded our heroes and there's no chance of escape...

In the dungeons at Castle Deira; a small chamber...

 

The hooded stranger crawled out from under bed and burst out laughing. “Remind me never to take you into battle with me. You’d wipe out all my best knights with that thing!” He scrambled up and fell back on the bed, where he helped himself to a chunk of bread and an onion from the plate on the small wooden chest. He savoured his food wordlessly, before holding up his sword into the light and turning it thoughtfully. Excalibur!

Merlin gasped, allowing the stranger’s friend to hoist him up and put him back onto his feet. Unexpectedly, the bear-like companion released Merlin rather abruptly and propelled him into the stranger’s open arms. Merlin reached out and pulled the hood from the man’s face.

“Arthur!”

“The very same! Minus his own breeches and armour thanks to a certain useless toad of a servant for whom I truly wouldn’t give a silver penny.” Arthur pulled his servant close and embraced Merlin heartily. “After leaving me stark naked at the lake, you deserve being handed over to the ladies of the house!”

“No thanks, I’ve met them. I’d rather romance a bear!”

“Be careful what you wish for, Merlin.” A wide grin spread across Arthur’s face. “Let me introduce you to my furry friend.”

“Lllleeeeeegggge Mmmmmrrrrlllleeennn!” Arthur’s companion stepped out into the candle light and clouted Merlin on the back. Merlin’s knees gave way and he fell onto the bed, landing half-way across Arthur’s lap.

“On second thought, I might be persuaded to join the ladies upstairs,” Merlin panted and scrabbled back on his feet. “Your woolly friend is a fraction too affectionate for my taste.”

Arthur burst out laughing. “That’s just what the ladies must have said! I found our friend tied to the four-poster bed.”

Merlin rubbed his shoulder. “That’s probably not a bad idea.” He turned and caught a whiff of the creature’s fur. “Phew! I thought the troll leader was pretty fragrant, but THIS – what exactly is THIS, when it’s at home in its own natural habitat? Troll, wild boar or plain old hearth rug on legs?“

Arthur held his belly, roaring with laughter. Merlin couldn’t help himself and burst out laughing, too. Their hairy companion shook his fist at them.

 “Clllltttpppplllls!”

“Good heavens, it speaks!” Merlin wiped a tear from the corner of his eye and cleared his throat. “Did he just call us _clot-pole_?”

“He’s a fast learner,” Arthur hiccupped between bouts of laughter. “By this afternoon he’ll be calling us dollop-head and know how to hold a sword.”

“Wwwwitcheeees, Aaarrrgggguuurrr.” The creature tore the lady’s scarf from the washstand and started whipping the two friends with it, but it only served to increase their merriment.

“After I had dealt with the lead troll I had a brief look around – the ladies of the house were busy picking herbs in the kitchen garden. No doubt they were trying to make themselves even more appealing for our amorous friend Gawain.” Arthur managed to say, when he had relieved Gawain of the scarf. He tied the pretty accessory around his face and pouted, enraging Gawain even more and sending Merlin into fits of helpless laughter.

They stopped laughing when the door was torn open; the three men fell silent instantly. The companion and Arthur sprang to their feet and grabbed hold of their swords, while Merlin pounced on the mace Arthur’s furry companion had taken off him earlier.

“Why don’t we announce our arrival more formally? Let’s blow fanfares and set off fire crackers, shall we?” Dragonara appeared in the doorframe. “You’ve probably alerted the guards from castles in the neighbourhood by now, never mind the trolls of this establishment!”

Two swords and one mace sank to the ground. Dragonara’s stern look did not relent. Arthur regained his wits more quickly than his companions. “We were just...uhm...holding a council of war. Won’t you join us?” He invited her into the chamber and motioned her to take a seat on the bed. “I know this chamber isn’t exactly fit for a queen, but there’s wine and bread!” Arthur held out the tankard to her. She shook her head, but accepted a place on the bed.

“I’ve counted around one hundred trolls guarding this castle. There are no servants or grooms as far as I can tell, just guards. Doesn’t that strike you as strange?” Arthur sat down next to Dragonara and sniffed the tankard’s contents. “Who baked this bread and who fetched the wine?”

Dragonara shook her head. “There’s nothing strange in that. The castle is bewitched.”

“Hm, you seem very certain of your case? Since you brought up the subject of sorcery, you wouldn’t happen to know how I got out of the water and landed in the claw of the catapult on the upper gallery, would you, Godmother dearest? I’m a strong swimmer, but even I can’t propel my body up a tower like a flying fish.”

“Probably all that hot air in your head,” Dragonara reached across him and grabbed the loaf of bread. “It happens a lot to newly crowned kings.” She winked at Merlin and took a bite out of the loaf. “Hmmmm, this is fine bread indeed. Fit for a queen!”

She tore off a chunk and handed it to Merlin. He took it, hesitated and then offered it to the creature, but it shook its head. “Won’t you introduce us to your new friend?”

Arthur cleared his throat and got up. He bowed first to the creature, then to the lady and Merlin. “Apology, m’lady. Let me introduce you to one of Camelot’s finest. The honourable knight, Sir Gawain.”

“Lllleeeeeegggge Mmmmmrrrrlllleeennn!” The honourable monster bowed deeply to Queen Dragonara, before turning to his young servant-friend.

Merlin stared open-mouthed. “Gawain? I don’t believe it! We came to rescue him from torture and all the time he was tied up in a lady’s bedchamber? He was screaming like a...uhm...proverbial stuck pig. Goose feather pillows too hard on your hide, were they?” Merlin exhaled with a grunt, tore into the chunk of bread and chewed with bulging cheeks. Gawain shrugged his shoulders and attempted a grin.

“Has he always been like this or is this a recent development,” Dragonara pointed to Gawain’s bat-like ears and wild-boar snout.

“The jury’s still out on that one,” Arthur grinned. He picked up the tankard once more and was about to drink deeply, when Gawain lunged at him and snatched the tankard out of his hand.

“Oy, get your own, greedy beggar!”

Gawain sniffed the wine, before pronouncing his expert opinion on the vintage: “Wwwwitcheeees, Aaarrrgggguuurrr.”

Dragonara took the wine from him and stuck her nose into the tankard. “He’s right, Arthur, the wine is bewitched. Everyone drinking from it will turn into a creature just like him.”

“Can’t you undo the enchantment...turn him back into Gawain?”

Dragonara shifted uncomfortably on the bed next to him and stared at her feet. “I’m sorry Arthur, I’m not sure that I can.”

“Meaning you can produce spells that send me flying a hundred yards up into the air but you cannot – or will not – help my friend! Sorcerers, you are all the same...self-serving, untrustworthy –“

Dragonara shot up from the bed. “Now wait a minute! Did I say I wouldn’t try?” She glowered at her godson. “Don’t be so quick to judge, it is unbecoming in a king. This whole castle is protected by an incredibly powerful spell, so powerful it may take more than my sorcery to break it.”

Arthur searched her face. “How do you know? Have you already tried?”

Dragonara’s face darkened and she sunk back onto the bed looking like a picture of personified misery. “I know because I was the one who cast the spell with Leofwine’s help.”

Arthur and Merlin stared at her. Gawain growled. She got up and started pacing around the room, wringing her hands and picking at the chunk of bread as she circled the chamber. “It was Leofwine. He tricked me...just like he had tricked the poor girls and their father whose castle this is. You see, he wanted an heir, but his wife was barren. He’d learned that sorcery might help his wife to conceive, so he turned to me...he promised to help me. I was in rather a fix at the time.”

Arthur gasped. “The story you told to the children...I thought you were talking about –“

“I know, you thought I was talking about you and Ygraine...well, that is another story for which now is not the right time. Leofwine had learned that there were three sisters living at the edge of his realm, who dabbled in magic. He tricked Yolanda, the prettiest of the three girls. The girl’s father had kept them not exactly isolated, but well, they were quite innocent and Yolanda believed Leofwine when he told her he’d send his first wife away into exile and marry Yolanda instead. The truth is he needed a woman of noble blood for the spell and he didn’t want to risk his wife’s life. I was the one who was to perform the actual spell to bring about the birth of his heir. In order to create the kind of son he wanted, I needed the blood of true nobility.”

Merlin slapped his forehead. “Now I understand! When Leofwine took his revenge, he also used noble blood for the spell to enchant the castle and its inhabitants. That explains why the sisters sent out their trolls to capture Urien but the guards stupidly abducted us instead. The sisters have been trying to break the spell ever since.”

Arthur got up and joined his godmother in her rounds of the chamber, following her shadow. “Go on, how come his wife ended up dead?”

Merlin interrupted. “A life for a life. That’s the law of magic, remember what the High Priestess Nimueh told Uther?”

“Everything was set up and we were ready to perform the spell. I had certain problems of my own at the time,” Dragonara turned abruptly and eyed Arthur from under her eyelashes, “which we don’t need to go into right now. When Leofwine offered me sanctuary in exchange for the spell, I jumped at the chance. At the last minute, Yolanda’s father found out what Leofwine was planning and intervened, fearing the price for the spell would be his daughter’s life. She withdrew her offer of help. Leofwine tried to persuade the other two sisters, but they laughed in his face, mocking him, saying they wouldn’t want to be his wife if he was the last man on earth.”

She stopped pacing and faced Arthur. “Leofwine was so desperate for an heir; his wars with his neighbours were going badly, he feared without an heir his realm would be vulnerable; he eventually used his beloved wife in the spell. She died giving birth to Urien. Leofwine was beside himself with rage and vowed to take terrible revenge on the three sisters and their father.”

“Why do you think the laws of Camelot forbid the practice of magic?” Arthur had also stopped pacing and challenged his godmother face to face. “Because nothing good’s ever come from using sorcery!”

Dragonara raised her hands and gently cupped his face in her palms. “Oh, I wouldn’t say that, my dear boy.”

Surprised, Arthur submitted to the caress before turning brusquely away. Seeing godmother and god-son standing so closely together, Merlin thought they could have passed for mother and son, they were so similar in their colouring, height and demeanour. Merlin looked from Dragonara to Arthur’s face. Two sets of cornflower-blue eyes gazed back at him. Merlin tried to recall a distant memory involving Morgause and the ghost of Ygraine, but the memory remained as elusive as Dragonara herself, who stood lost in her own thoughts in the middle of the chamber. He cleared his throat to catch her attention. “How do we break the spell that’s enchanted Gawain and this castle, my lady?”

Dragonara opened her mouth to speak but at that very moment an explosion in the chambers above them shattered the peace. Their own chamber shook with the impact of the explosion and several small pieces of masonry fell from the ceiling. They rushed out into the hallway trying to determine where the noise was coming from.

“What’s immediately above us, Merlin, you’ve been up there?”

“It must be the great hall,” Merlin stared at Arthur. “That can only mean one thing, they’ve recaptured Sir Leon and the others and now the women...oh no, crazy old Ethelgunda’s tried to make another brew with my hair.”

Arthur stared at his servant. In the flickering light of Arthur’s candle the two of them looked rather comical, a king wearing troll’s clothing several sizes too large and a servant in a king’s robes that were just as ill-fitting. “Why on earth would the women perform sorcery using your hair? Wearing my cloak and mail shirt seems to have gone to your head, Merlin!”

“If it had, the spell would have been broken by now, wouldn’t it?” Merlin pulled a face and rubbed the spot where Ethelgunda had ripped out his hair. “My blood’s just too rich in natural nobility, that’s why Ethelgunda’s brew hasn’t worked.”

Arthur snorted. “It’s certainly full of something, but I doubt it’s nobility. Horse dung more like it.” He grabbed Merlin’s arm and pushed him in front. “Here, take the candle. Wearing a king’s robes brings not just privileges but also obligations with it. Why don’t you go to the end of this passage and see, if it’s safe to proceed?”

A second explosion rocked the castle, throwing Arthur and Dragonara off their feet and sending Gawain crashing into the wall. Merlin remained upright but dropped the candle, plunging them all into momentary darkness.

“Lunare,” Merlin whispered and the candle’s flame relit instantly. He picked it up and cautiously walked to the end of the passage. The next corridor was deserted. He breathed a sigh of relief. “Come, it’s quite safe.” Merlin stepped into the passageway and disappeared into the darkness. His companions hurried to keep up with him.

“He’s certainly got natural bravery coursing through his veins, I give him that,” Arthur conceded and followed at speed. Above them running feet could be heard and cries echoing along the deserted corridors. “What do the women want with my knights? Try them out one by one for the right degree of noble blood?”

Gawain snorted and Dragonara burst out in a mirthless laugh. “If only, Arthur! Leofwine’s enchantment means the women have to each find a man willing to take their hand in marriage when the sun is up. For a few hours each night the women turn back to their beautiful selves, but when the sun rises they become hags again. The more a man mocks them, the worse the effect of the enchantment will be when they drink the wine.” She pointed at Gawain, whose bat-ears had grown at an alarming speed. “I’m afraid that’s not all. Leofwine’s enchantment means the men eventually become besotted with the hags. He enchanted all the wine in the cellar to make sure the castle guards keep topping up on the magical brew with every meal they take.”

“While the women don’t give two straws for the men!” Merlin had stopped in his tracks to allow the others to catch up. “Now I understand why the trolls stay despite the rough treatment they get. Leofwine wanted to make sure the poor women would never find love...you know, in case one of the trolls falls in love with a hag and vice versa.”

Gawain stood sniffing the stale air in the passage. He pointed excitedly upwards. “Wwwwitcheeees, Aaarrrgggguuurrr.”

Arthur pushed past him, firmly taking Dragonara by the arm. “I don’t fancy seeing another of my knights being turned into a bridegroom with the features of a hog. If truly noble blood can undo the enchantment, the women can have a whole fistful of my hair.”

Dragonara raised an eyebrow. “How very generous of you, my liege. Undoubtedly just one hair from the scalp of Uther’s son will surpass everyone else’s nobility.”

“Don’t take it to heart if yours turns the brew to syrup,” Merlin beamed. “You may be the new king of Camelot, but you’re still the same arrogant dollop-head you always were.”

Arthur clouted his servant’s ears. “Get going, before Gawain here gets engaged to one of those hags.”

The friends raced along the corridors, following the noise. They heard trampling of boots above them, guessing the guards were in hot pursuit of somebody, presumably their friends.

When they reached the great spiral stair case that linked the lower domestic quarters and great hall with the upper floor apartments and turrets, Arthur pushed Dragonara in front of him. “Up you go, godmother dearest. No doubt your magical skin will protect you from anything the sisters might throw at us.”

Dragonara reluctantly set a foot on the stairs and Arthur shoved her up more forcefully. “You and your fine husband got us into this mess. Now that you experience the results of your own sorcery, you don’t seem quite so keen. Afraid to meet with the sisters’ wrath, are you?”

“It’s not that, Arthur. It’s just the dog at the top of the stairs. I’ve always been a cat-person myself.”

Arthur looked up and was greeted by something dribbling on his face. The two-headed beast guarding the top of the great stair case stared down at them with glowing eyes and bared teeth. Arthur sighed. “Just once I’d like to meet a magical creature that doesn’t drool and doesn’t have stinky breath! What I wouldn’t give for something friendly and pretty for a change.”

“Last time you met one of those you shot it, remember?” Merlin was bringing up the rear, making sure Gawain didn’t wander off. “What could possibly be friendlier than a unicorn? This dog is your just reward.”

Arthur grimaced and wiped the snot of his face. He drew Excalibur and pushed past Dragonara, but she held him back. “Don’t kill him. It’s the girls’ father.”

“You’re joking? Fancy having that for a father-in-law! Once again I’m counting my blessings with Gwen.”

Arthur shuddered and set a cautious foot on the next step. The beast growled and took one huge leap onto the next level down. Behind him Merlin clung onto the banisters for support and Gawain raised his sword. Dragonara put her hand on Arthur’s sword arm. “I know I said don’t kill him, but if he comes any closer –“


	10. 10

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The action switches back to Camelot, where a beleaguered Queen Gwen is running out of time to fulfil Leofwine's demand for a dragon's heart. Prince Urien, not at all in favour of his father's tactics to annex yet another realm, send his most trusted messenger to Gwen to reassure her of his honourable intentions to avoid a war with Camelot if at all possible. As Gaius researches more closely into the matter of dragon's and their ladies, he realises what Leofwine's true intentions are and what deadly trap the wizard king has set for Gwen and Arthur.
> 
> Meanwhile, Eleanor arrives at Castle Deira, where Leofwine's trusted henchman is already lying in wait for her.

At the eastern gate at Camelot...

 

“Begging your pardon for the small deception, Your Majesty. My name’s Hueil and my lord is Prince Urien. He feared you wouldn’t welcome a messenger from Leofwine’s camp. King Arthur was alive and well up until last night and so was my lady Dragonara. That’s when my lord saw them last by the shores of Lake Merthur. He regrets there is no news of Arthur’s men; it appears they have been abducted by some bandits. My lady Dragonara and King Arthur must have gone after them, but there’s no need to be alarmed. So far none of Camelot’s knights seem to have been harmed or injured. We found traces of a scuffle, but no blood to speak of.” The man calling himself Hueil inhaled deeply, relaxing visibly, now that his errant had been discharged.

Gwen had barely arrived at the eastern gate, when Hueil discharged his message at breakneck speed. Behind her Gaius panted down the battlements, his face red and his long grey hair dishevelled from running down the steep staircase of the main entrance to the keep. Now he had to lean against the gate post to catch his breath. Gwen turned to the messenger and was about to greet him, when Gaius intervened.

“Food? Your lord?” Gaius barked and gesticulated wildly, his hand pointing at a number of empty baskets and crates lined up against the enceinte, Camelot’s defensive walls lining the ramparts.

“Oh yes, Prince Urien arranged for refreshments as a token of his esteem and friendship. He begs you to allow him time to calm his father’s mind. I trust the few trifles my lord sent were to your liking, my lady?” Hueil’s exterior belied his inner refinement. Gaius approved of the man, despite the torn leather breeches, dusty coat of mail and generally unwashed appearance.

One look at his queen told the old physician she also approved of the man and his lord. Gwen beamed a smile of gratitude that would have melted the heart of King Odin himself, Camelot’s grumpiest neighbour. Hueil had clearly been instructed to repeat Urien’s words to the letter...and Prince Urien could have gloated over the citadel’s lack of provisions, but he chose to call the much needed food simply _refreshments_ , as if Queen Guinevere was preparing for a picnic instead of hoarding for a siege.

“Please thank your lord for me and tell him, his gift was warmly received and much appreciated. I’m most grateful for news of my husband and his party. Assure your lord I understand his difficulties completely. Alas, time is something we do not have in abundance. King Leofwine’s ultimatum is impossible for us to meet; your lord must know that. There are no dragons left in any of the five kingdoms - how could we therefore procure a dragon’s heart?”

“My lord is quite aware of your predicament, my lady, but Leofwine insists there is a dragon still at large that must be slain for the greater good of all.”

Gaius had finally regained his breath and was ready to use it. “For the greater good of all...or the greater good of Leofwine? What exactly is your overlord going to do with this hypothetical dragon’s heart? Lay waste to all five kingdoms?”

Gwen dug her elbows into the old man’s ribs. “You must forgive our court physician. The sight of an army encampment outside Camelot makes him nervous; he’s apt to speak his mind a little too freely, when he’s been deprived of his favourite herbs for too long.” Gwen glared at Gaius. “Perhaps your lord and I should meet in person to find a solution together; would that suit my lord Urien?”

It was Hueil’s turn to beam. A smile stole across his stubbly features and his grey eyes lit up. “My lord was hoping you’d propose such a scheme. Your gracious Majesty is too young to have met her, but my lord Urien’s very much like his mother, who was as wise as she was beautiful. When she was alive, the realm of Dunadd was prosperous and at peace with all its neighbours. He’s out on an errant for Leofwine, but as soon as he returns, he’ll send word by my hand. I bid you good day, my Queen.” Hueil bowed deeply and turned to walk back to his encampment.

Gaius stared after the travel-worn man, who strode unhurried down the ramparts and out through the eastern gate. “Urien’s most loyal and trusted man, I’d wager. They can’t have slept a wink after their long ride to Lake Merthur and back. The prince must have sent him straight up here with provisions the moment his father’s back was turned. Hm, interesting. Hueil called you _his queen_...never once referring to his true overlord as king...or to Dragonara as his queen for that matter. No great love for either of them, I reckon.”

“It shows at any rate, Prince Urien prefers diplomacy to warfare, something I know Arthur will wholeheartedly approve of in a potential ally.”

 “Speaking of diplomacy, that was deftly handled, my dear girl. _My lord Urien_ , hehe. Count yourself lucky Arthur wasn’t here to hear that.”

Gwen turned away briskly but not fast enough to hide a touch of pink stealing across her cheeks from Gaius’ keen eyes. “I have no idea what you’re talking about. It was a slip of the tongue, Gaius, nothing more.” She picked up her skirts and lightly tripped up the stairs to walk back up the ramparts and into the main courtyard.

“Slip of the tongue, my foot! Our Gwen’s turning into quite an accomplished little sovereign. Speaking of feet,” Gaius squinted at his swollen toes and sighed, “it’s about time mine got some rest.” He walked back into the main courtyard and selected a quiet spot against the wall of the chapel to watch the comings and goings of the servants. When he had settled comfortably, he pulled off his sandals, took out a leather-bound book from under his cloak and began reading the next passage concerning _Dragons and their Ladies,_ a major work by the notoriously romantic writer Aurelius Smarticus the Younger.

No matter how hard he tried to concentrate on Aurelius and his lusty dragons, Gaius’ mind kept drifting back to the conversation at the eastern gate. Gwen’s willingness to ignore her newly acquired superior rank and give precedence to the prince boded well for the negotiations. More than that, she had shown great skill in allowing Urien to save face. Who’d want to admit their parent was a jealous lunatic, apt to fly off the handle and ride into battle at the slightest provocation?

And what about that curious absence of any reference to Leofwine’s or Dragonara’s rank? Gaius guessed correctly that Urien’s favourite messenger had no respect or feelings of loyalty for either his king or queen. Perhaps in his mind he had already usurped them with a new king, namely his lord Urien? If that should prove the case, it was a circumstance to be exploited. Out there in the camp there might be soldiers baying for Camelot’s blood, but they were mercenaries, men who could be bought. Arthur’s knights and soldiers on the other hand were loyal to a fault. If there was the slightest chance of a revolt by Leofwine’s knights and army, it was something to be promoted by Camelot. Leofwine’s kingdom was vast; with Urien on the throne as Arthur’s ally the four kingdoms surrounding Camelot might stop squabbling over boundary issues and finally be at peace. Arthur could fulfil his destiny and heal the lands, unite the kingdoms and make Albion strong forever.

Healing...it was the essence of the old man’s own heart. Yawning, Gaius became acutely aware of the sun’s rays searing his nose and checked for any blistering on the sore spot Gwen’s radish had left. He wiped the sweat from his face with his sleeve and rose slowly to find a shadier spot under a covered walkway, where he slumped down on a stone bench and stared with unseeing eyes into the courtyard; maids hurried by with baskets full of old sheets, which were to be torn into strips to make bandages. A couple of grooms walked slowly up and down with buckets, collecting horse manure to be used in the kitchen gardens, where the gardeners were covering every inch of soil with carrots, cabbages and onions.

Gaius felt slightly ashamed. Had he not been dozing in the sun, when he should be helping Gwen in the last few hours before the siege on the citadel began in earnest? But what could he do – he was just an old man? A healer at that, not a soldier. He was a healer of people’s bones and looked after their insides, not a physician treating a cuckolded king’s hurt pride. To heal the lands, for that they needed Arthur!

Healing Camelot’s leadership was Merlin’s destiny...but how could he heal a realm that had been torn apart by Uther’s relentless persecution of those who had practiced magic and those who still followed the old religion? Gaius rubbed his eyes with his knuckles and yawned...healing powers were such a valuable thing to have...Urien was also in need of healing for his lands. After decades of waging war on his neighbours, Leofwine’s kingdom must be just as exhausted, devastated and in ruins as the realms outside of his borders. What a legacy to leave to his only son!

Gaius started. He stared at Aurelius’ book lying openly across his knees. _Dragon’s and their Ladies..._ dragon queens gave birth to dragons’ eggs...and if the eggs were female...the dragon inside could potentially be another queen and might turn into anything, including a beautiful maiden. Could such a maiden be a threat to Arthur and Gwen’s happiness? He swallowed hard, when the image of a dragon’s egg rose up in his mind.

What about Aithusa, their very own fire-breathing, hiccupping baby dragon, currently making life unbearable for Camelot’s native squirrel population? Gaius weighed up the chances. On the whole he thought Aithusa might be a girl, but not a dragon queen. The egg Merlin had brought back was blue, not golden. Merlin had said the hatchling was completely white, no silver spikes running along its spine. Then there were Arthur’s feelings for Gwen. Could a chance encounter with a mysterious beauty turn his heart? He’d had so little experience of women’s ways, the lack of princesses in neighbouring kingdoms had seen to that. Had Arthur’s heart ever truly recovered from Gwen’s betrayal with Lancelot? Gaius sighed and turned to the next passage in Aurelius’ book. Perhaps Aurelius the expert on romance knew how to heal a broken heart!

This time Gaius sat up straight and knew he had found the answer. Healing powers! A dragon queen could not only heal that which was hurt or injured...she could heal what was barren and dead! Gaius gathered up his tunic and cloak and raced up the stairs taking two steps at once. The two guards at the entrance stared after the old physician, as his bare feet pelted past them and into the keep where his queen was still blissfully unaware of Leofwine’s deadly plans.

***

 

At Castle Deira, on a hill facing the moat...

 

Eleanor dismounted Bede and led him by the bridle down the hill, towards the moat and drawbridge slumbering in the evening mist. He began to whinny and from somewhere nearby that call was answered. “Did you hear that? Hengist is here! We’ve found the right place, Bede, my boy. I bet you’re looking forward to your hay as much as I’m looking forward to a bath and a plate full of stew.” She stroked his nose affectionately and urged him on. “Strange, no welcoming party, no guards at the gate?”

She sauntered downhill past clumps of cornflowers and red poppies, her fingers running over the plump ears of grain that was growing all around her; Bede snatched a few wild flowers, munching happily after their long journey, his huge belly swaying gently alongside the girl. Their combined movement stirred a swarm of flies riding on the balmy air. Eleanor swiped them away impatiently, sending the living cloud straight up into the air, where a passing swift welcomed the unexpected meal. The bird reminded Eleanor it was important to reach the bridge and safety of the castle before the sun set and she gave Bede’s rear an affectionate slap to hurry him along. Once or twice she looked over her shoulder, but did not espy what she had feared to see.

“Looks like we’ve finally shaken off our shadow, my boy. I hope he plunged back to whatever sewer he came from back at Osthryth’s Fort.” She kissed Bede’s neck. “Not that I wish Oswiu any harm, mind, but between you and me, a world without Oswiu in it is a brighter world by far!”

Bede snorted his agreement, prompting Eleanor to perform a happy little dance. Horse and girl were exhausted, they had ridden hard and far to outwit her father’s favourite retainer, finally shaking him off atOsthryth’s Fort, where his horse had met with a small accident during the crossing. As a minor member of the gentry, Oswiu held just one manor with no more than two hides of mainly hilly land that provided barely enough to feed the peasants living there, let alone keep a royal wife in the comfort she was accustomed to. Yet Oswiu’s family had long-held ambitions for their son to rise far above his station. Eleanor had seen him looking at her in a way no king’s retainer should ever dare employ towards a princess of the realm. One time, when Bede had been sick and she had visited him secretly during the night, Oswiu had followed her to the stables and had pressed his case. She had threatened to expose him to the King, but Oswiu had merely laughed and said, girls with mothers like hers should remember their place. Since that day she knew Oswiu lacked the necessary scruples and would not hesitate to take her by force, thus claiming his entitlement to a throne that might soon become vacant, if Leofwine’s self-destructive path continued along the lines as it had done of late.

With Eleanor the monarchy’s bloodline continued by the king’s decree. Leofwine had declared his step-daughter to be a legitimate heir, should any misfortune ever befall Urien. Unlike her own mother, Leofwine had always doted on her from the time she’d been small. Hadn’t Dragonara let it slip often enough how Urien was the result of magic rather than a son born of noble blood? No wonder the king had turned to the child he knew was most decidedly of royal blood. Her father had been King Bicoir of the ancient kingdom of Lot and Queen Dragonara’s bloodline was as old as the Earth itself. Her mother’s reputation might have been tarnished by her entanglement with Nechtan, but noble blood was noble blood in any book on heraldry!

Eleanor stopped her merry dance abruptly. Was that why Urien had kissed her in the cave? In her own mind and to the world at large they might be step-brother and sister, but they were not really related at all. If he took her for his wife...it would appease the barons and nobles of Dunadd, who were on Dragonara’s side, but what about the troops still loyal to Leofwine and the mercenaries he had allowed into the realm?

She breathed in deeply, sucking in the cooler evening air, hoping to bring clarity to her troubled mind. Letting go off the bridle, she permitted Bede to make his own way down to the water’s edge. The tips of her fingers touched her lips as she tried to recall Urien’s kiss. She closed her eyes and was instantly transported back to the scent of his skin and the warmth of his cheek against hers. The cry of a kite plunging out of the red sky into the parched fields below startled her. She opened her eyes and saw Bede had reached the moat and was grazing by the water’s edge. Eleanor hurried down the hill to join him and enter Castle Deira before nightfall.

Concealed in the scrubland that formed the background to the moat to the west Oswiu was busy wrapping a cold compress around his horse’s front leg. The animal had stepped into a water vole’s hole and as a result had gone lame. Unwilling to give up the chase, Oswiu had barely made it to Castle Deira before Eleanor arrived on top of the hill. He patted the compress of mud and wild mustard seeds firmly into place. The mare was shivering, covered in sweat and worn out by pain and exhaustion. Oswiu regarded his horse with a frown,before leading his horse deeper into the thicket. A useless mare, should his quarry decide to flee! When he was certain the horse could not be seen from the moat or bridge, Oswiu crept back to the water’s edge and lowered his body into the moat. He swam across to the reed bed growing closest to the foot of the bridge and waited patiently for his prey to arrive. This time Oswiu wasn’t taking any chances. He knew what a wild-cat Eleanor could be. He’d watched her grow up, watched her tease that boy Urien. Oswiu smiled and drew his dagger.

She certainly had fire in her belly! It was fine by him, but this time she’d not get a chance to stab him again! How she must have congratulated herself, when she got away at the Fort. He suppressed a laugh and ducked lower into the reeds, the cool water refreshing his senses instantly. Her body had felt so warm under his, her mouth defenceless against his lips, her hair smelling of roses and myrrh, her small fists pounding his back. Since that day in the stables he’d been unable to think of anything else. Oswiu’s mouth began to fill with drool, when he recalled the softness of her skin. He laughed. Eleanor was going to be juicier than a ripe peach; this time he’d show her, who was her true lord and master!

Oswiu ducked lower into the reeds and held his breath. Eleanor had reached the water’s edge and was taking Bede’s bridle to mount and head for the bridge.

The man in the moat clamped the dagger between his teeth and rose silently out of the reeds. This time he’d have her, no matter what...


	11. 11

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Can Merlin and Arthur stop their friend Gawain from turning into a troll permanently? As they are being lead away by their captors, Merlin and Arthur realise the full cruelty of the spell Leofwine has cast over the castle, a spell of perpetual unrequited love. While they mourn the loss of their friend Gawain, something truly miraculous happens...

The bowels of Castle Deira...

 

The beast took another giant leap and was now facing them from the next level up. Arthur’s hand shook for a moment, but he clearly forced himself to regain control. Before he had a chance to strike, however, Merlin had sidled past him. “There’s a good doggy, look, some nice bread for you, how about that?”

The dog leaped down and sniffed Merlin’s outstretched hand. Baring all his teeth the beast gingerly took the offered bread and tore it out of the boy’s grasp. The first head dropped the chunk of bread; the second snatched it up again and began to chew. Merlin reached out and patted the first head cautiously. The dog stopped chewing, whimpered and submitted to the caress with both heads.

“He likes his ears scratched.” Marigold’s face had appeared on the uppermost level. She’d not had a good morning either, Merlin reckoned, when he glanced up into her tear-stained face. Marigold sniffed dismissively. “Your friends have escaped again. I think they’ve locked themselves into the tower of falconry. As if that would do any good.”

Behind her Unding’s head had appeared. “Best place for them, if you ask me, my lady. They’ll be turning soon. The first few hours can be rather...disorientating for a man not used to being a troll. I’m surprised their friend’s held up so well. His transformation should be complete by now.” Unding was pressing a blood-stained handkerchief to his nose. Noticing Arthur for the first time, he growled as ferociously as the dog had just done. “YOU! Mistress Marigold, he’s the stranger I told you about, the one I found up by the mangonel. Isn’t that my coat of mail the scoundrel’s wearing?”

Arthur shifted his position on the stairs a little to hide behind Merlin. Being caught by your servant wearing a girl’s blouse was one thing, being unmasked as a thief by the owner of a coat of mail quite another.

“If you’ve come to rescue your friends, you’re too late, I’m afraid. They’ll soon be just like him.” Oblivious to the brewing dispute over Arthur’s clothes, Marigold pointed at Gawain. The knight under review took one look at her, emitted a delighted squeal and raced up the stairs, pushing Merlin and the two-headed hound out of the way. Arthur tried to hold his bewitched friend back, but failed.

At the top of the stairs Gawain shoved the troll to one side and threw his arms around Marigold’s neck. “Lllleeeeeegggge Daaarrrlllinnnggg!” He planted a wet kiss on her mouth, which earned him a punch in the snout from Marigold and a kick in the backside from Unding, who clearly wasn’t impressed by a newcomer taking such liberties with his mistress.

Arthur rolled his eyes. “Great! Now we have a jealous troll, a two-headed father-in-law AND a wild boar in love guarding the stairs. Could any damsel’s virtue be more protected?”

“You’re already spoken for, remember?” Merlin grinned from ear to ear, feeding the last morsel of bread to the hound. “Mistress Marigold, please tell me who bakes this delicious bread?”

Arthur boxed Merlin’s ears. “Who cares? We’re not here to unravel the secrets of their kitchens! We’re here to free our friends, so I can get back to my bride whom I remember with great clarity, thank you very much.”

“The way to a woman’s heart is to compliment her on her womanly skills.” Merlin muttered. “You might want to remember that, Sire. Women appreciate delicacy in a man.”

“Oh, really? Is this speaking from experience as a notorious heartbreaker in Ealdor, where you lived with your mother and two chickens and the only single girl was seventy-years-old?”

“You’re the one who needed four years of practice to propose to Gwen,” Merlin grinned. “I’m trying to create a distraction here!” Ignoring Arthur, Merlin took a few steps upwards the stairs, keeping his eye on the dog. “Am I right in thinking that overseeing the kitchens is your responsibility, my lady? Perhaps you are the expert baker yourself?”

Above him, Marigold nodded so enthusiastically, her greying hair tumbled out of its golden net. “I’ve always been fond of baking. You should try my brioche. Father used to scold me for sneaking down to Cook, saying it was unbecoming for a lady of noble birth to loiter in the kitchens.” She coyly wrapped a strand of hair around her fingers. “My one ambition was to be a good wife. You can’t run a household as large as this one and not know how much grain is being used. The servants might rob you blind!”

Squeezing past the dog, Arthur joined Merlin on the next step up. His servant’s elbow nudged him in the ribs, cautioning him to silence. Merlin beamed at Marigold. “Absolutely, I couldn’t agree more. It’s just the same at Camelot. My household servants would have the very shirt from my back, given half a chance.” Merlin stopped himself from laughing, when he saw Arthur’s eyebrows go up and realised he’d gone too far.

Unding pointed at Arthur’s chest. “And when he can’t get Your Majesty’s shirt, your servant helps himself to mine? I’d know that collar anywhere. I darned the tear myself. Look, there on the cloak, my lady, it bears the Wulfgar arms!” Unding gesticulated wildly. “The thieving rat! We may not hold much land, but we are of noble birth. How dare he besmirch my honour! Let me at the scoundrel, Mistress Marigold, I’ll soon teach him some manners.” Unding tried to get past his mistress and reached down over her shoulder to feel Arthur’s collar, but Merlin blocked the way and slapped his wrist.

“We may be your prisoners but if he’s stolen, he’ll answer to me, not you! His hide is mine to do with as I please.” Merlin grabbed Arthur by the ear and said in his most Arthur-like voice. “Did you take the guard’s clothes, peasant? He may look like a bear with a swine’s snout, but underneath that fur he’s still a man of noble birth and therefore not to be insulted by the likes of you.”

Unding growled, but Marigold merely giggled. “You know, it’s so nice talking to someone who understands. Now that I take a closer look at you, you’re not nearly as puny as I thought.” She risked placing a foot on the next step down, to the consternation of Unding and Gawain, who tried to hold her back. She was now on the step just above Merlin’s. “It’s strange you know, the cauldron exploding the way it did when Ethelgunda added your hair to the brew. We’ve been trying to find a counter-spell to this wretched curse for ages. You must be ever so noble, Arthur dear. Ethelgunda probably used too much of your hair.”

She reached down and felt Merlin’s upper arm. “Oh my, how very pleasing! Is that from jousting every day?”

 “No, it’s from carrying all that nobility on his shoulders.” Arthur gave his servant a little shove, propelling him into Marigold’s arms. “It’s inflating his royal pretensions.” Merlin wriggled like a worm on a hook, but Marigold held on to her prize with a surprisingly strong grasp.

“Marigold! What do you think you’re doing? Father, come away at once!” Ethelgunda had appeared at the top of the stairs. A rather out-of-breath Unding popped up next to her. “Heaven knows what you’d get up to, if I didn’t keep constant vigil over you, Marigold. Thankfully Unding alerted me.”

“And me. Don’t forget your Gawain, Mistress Marigold. He’s coming to your rescue, don’t you fret, my little raven.”

Merlin’s eyes widened. “Arthur, did you hear that? Our hog-nosed friend talks like a human!”

“Yes, and as usual he makes no sense at all!”

A horde of trolls, led by Gawain, ran down the stairs to take charge of the prisoners. Arthur was able to hold them off for a while and Dragonara’s sword managed to deal with several attackers, but they were soon overwhelmed and Marigold dragged the protesting Merlin up the stairs. The final insult came when Gawain engaged Arthur in a wrestling match, having successfully taken Excalibur from the king, who did not wish to harm his friend. Merlin muttered an incantation over his shoulder and Gawain was forced to drop the now red-hot sword with a howl. Excalibur tumbled down the stairs, but Arthur, clearly enraged at Gawain’s woolly-headed betrayal, dived after it, causing both king and knight to roll down the spiral stair case in a jumble of arms, legs and ill-fitting garments.

Fearing his cloak and coat of mail might come to harm, Unding cursed and ran down to catch up with them, closely followed by Merlin and the dog, which clearly thought this was a lot of fun. It snapped at Merlin’s heels and bounded down the stairs to flatten both combatants. With a little magic Merlin persuaded the dog to let go off its new playmates; judging by the language he used, when Arthur finally got back on his feet, Merlin doubted he’d get much gratitude from his king, whose sense of honour would undeniably have been dented by a dog’s backside. Unding hoisted up Gawain and put him back on his feet. Gawain now sported a deep cut above his left eye and Arthur clutched a bloody nose between his fingers. Merlin held out a handkerchief for Arthur, but Gawain snatched it and pressed it to his forehead instead. In the ensuing second scuffle Merlin got the chance to kick Excalibur out of sight and the dog got an opportunity to bite Unding, which appeared to satisfy the beast beyond measure.

Before Unding ordered his prisoners to walk up the stairs in single file, he clouted both Arthur and Gawain on the head with his fist. This foresight enabled the troll to bring in two rather subdued men without too much trouble. Merlin was allowed to bring up the rear with the dog, which seemed far less enthusiastic going up the stairs than it had going down, forcing Merlin to push it up the final steps. At the top of the stairs Merlin spotted Dragonara, who was staying out of sight by ducking behind a particularly bulky guard. Catching Merlin’s eye, she put a finger to her lips and inclined her head towards Ethelgunda and Marigold, who seemed blissfully unaware of Dragonara’s existence, having only eyes for Arthur’s golden head coming up the stairs.

“He came here all on his own to rescue his master, now isn’t that noble?” Marigold said when Arthur was being led past her. She eyed him keenly and, noticing her roving eye, he hurried to catch up with the others.

“Marigold, pull yourself together! He’s only a servant. Even Unding’s got more nobility in his veins than that scruffy boy.” Ethelgunda scolded her younger sister. However, she couldn’t resist reaching for Arthur’s hair, when he walked past her; Arthur slapped her wrists and followed Unding’s men and Merlin up the corridor, leaving Ethelgunda, Gawain and Mistress Marigold to hurry after them.

Unding ushered his prisoners triumphantly into the great hall, where a group of trolls were still performing clear-up duties, sweeping rubble aside and dusting the only remaining chair to within an inch of its upholstery’s life. Dragonara had managed to keep out of Ethelgunda and Marigold’s sight by selecting different guards for every section of their way. Now she stood at the very rear of the group, close to the entrance, where Merlin could just make out the top of Dragonara’s fair hair. She seemed to have engaged the troll in charge of her in a lively conversation about the merits of goose fat. Merlin’s keen ear heard the troll praise its use for keeping leather supple and saddle sores at bay. Merlin wondered briefly what would happen, when the three sisters finally caught up with Dragonara, the very source of all their misery.

The remaining guards were filing into the great hall, when Yolanda appeared through a small trap door in one of the few oak panels that still clung to the walls. She climbed over several large pieces of fallen masonry to reach the dilapidated hearth, where she sprinkled a few drops of belladonna into the apparently indestructible cauldron and prepared a fresh supply of broth.

Marigold, who was being led into the great hall hanging on Gawain’s arm, beamed at everyone, while Yolanda stopped and stared open-mouthed at the newcomers. Gawain waved at her causally, tossing his bloodied handkerchief into her direction, but it missed the fire in the hearth and landed in the cauldron with a splash instead. Yolanda was too distracted by the sight of Marigold’s head on Gawain’s shoulder to take notice of the prisoners.

“YOU!” Yolanda pointed an accusing finger at Gawain. “How dare you spoil my brew with your filthy rag!” Yolanda shook with rage, her grey face turning an even less becoming purple. Merlin noted with dismay the colour was beginning to match the wart on her chin.

“You come here flirting with my youngest sister, when you slept in MY arms last night?” Yolanda pressed her fists to her cart-horse hips and stamped her foot. “You even called me your little Blondie Mouse this morning! I’ll show you what I think of your treacherous tongue. You are my servant; I claimed you and therefore demand your loyalty.” Yolanda reached for her ladle and hurled it at Gawain.  Unable to get out of the way fast enough thanks to Marigold’s arm around his neck, he took the ladle full in the face, steaming broth covering his stubbly cheeks, chin and neck.

Marigold’s arm slid from Gawain’s neck instantly and she turned on him. “You called me your ebony-haired love dove when we kissed in the corridor just now! You rat! I thought you were different than the other trolls.”

Gawain grimaced and took several brisk paces into the centre of the hall. He attempted to wipe the brew from his face, but succeeded only in spreading the syrup all over his furry paws. “Listen lady, last night I was drunk which made you look,” Gawain fingered the tip of his sore snout and savoured the broth, “a lot less like a wild boar. Besides, you tricked me, Yolanda. If things had gone according to plan, I’d have woken up next to little Marigold here.”

“She shouldn’t have run off like that. First come, first served!”

“It was nearly dawn, Yolanda, and I didn’t want him to see me turn into –, “ Marigold’s eyes began to swim.

Gawain smiled. “A fabulous cook? Mistress Marigold, you’ll always be a good match for any knight not to mention this prize specimen. I’m afraid your sisters are too much of an acquired taste.”

Yolanda snapped for air. “What a nerve! Just look who’s talking! I suppose you think you’re as handsome as your princeling friend over there.” She pointed at Merlin, who grinned back sheepishly, avoiding Arthur’s eye.

Unperturbed by Yolanda’s increasingly hostile demeanour, Gawain began licking broth from the digits on his right paw. “If I must choose, I’ll take Marigold. Just look at her! Her bread is by far the sweetest. Yolanda, you’re just too conceited for my liking and besides, all you ever do is play with that exploding cauldron over there.” He started on his left paw and savoured the remaining brew. “A man likes to come first in his lady’s affections, if you know what I mean. I say, this broth would taste even better with a pinch of salt and a morsel of beef, if you ask me.”

“Nobody’s asking you – and since when do trolls get to choose? I’m the eldest, by rights your hide’s mine.” Ethelgunda asserted her rights of seniority by pinching Gawain’s bottom.

Turning briskly, Gawain threw up his paws. “Ladies, please, no fighting, there’s enough cheek to go round. I’d marry the three of you, if I could, honest I would, but I think your father might have something to say about that.” Gawain patted his potential father-in-law’s two heads, both of which bared their teeth and growled, forcing Gawain to beat a hasty retreat and appeal to the ladies again. “Put down that spoon, Yolanda, no more broth, there’s a good girl. Marigold, that boot is far more becoming on a lady’s ankle than it is in a knight’s face. Ethelgunda, I promise I’ll stay, if you let my friends go. We had such a nice time last night, girls, why can’t it be like that again?”

Yolanda dropped her spoon and buried her hands in her face. Marigold hung her head and began to sob. Gawain took a step back and stared. “Why, what have I said? We had a whole lot of fun, you said so when we danced, drank and made merry.”

“It won’t ever be like that again, my friend. You’re able to talk, which means your transformation is almost complete...and that means the sisters will no longer have feelings for you.” Unding had stepped out quietly from the number of guards. “Trust me, over time they will break your heart.”

Gawain snorted. “Who said anything about feelings? Give a knight a break! A flagon of wine, a dance and a cuddle, that’s all I ask!” Gawain winked at Unding and performed a little pirouette. “It’s a comfortable enough castle and I won’t insist on a dowry, although frankly, it would sweeten the blow, if I had to marry those two bossy sisters.”

Marigold stared at him open-mouthed; the tears stopped streaming across her wrinkly, grey face.

“Did I hear right or were my ears deceiving me? Did that hog-nosed, ill-bred son-of-a- “ Yolanda’s face was now the same shade as elderberry juice.

“Yes, dear. I believe he did. He spurned us. Us!” Ethelgunda gasped. “He talks as if we were common tavern maids, the scoundrel!” Next to her, Mistress Marigold emitted a faint squeak. Unding growled and the canine father-in-law let off a howl.

Merlin sidled up to Arthur and shoved his elbow into his liege’s ribs. “Did you hear that?”

“Of course I did, Merlin! That hound’s got a terrific set of lungs on him. My ears are still ringing.”

“No, not the dog, you cloth-eared...I meant Gawain. He’s transformed, but he’s not their devoted servant, Sire.”

“Of course not! He’s never been anyone’s devoted servant, Merlin. Gawain’s a knight, born and bred.”

 “So were you, Sire, but that didn’t stop Dragonara from telling you what to do on your way to Castle Deira, I’d wager.”

“Why, what has she told you?” Arthur cut his servant short. “If it’s about that damn rabbit stew I can explain –“

Oblivious to the consternation he was causing in the Castle Deira household, the dancing Gawain had spotted his friend Arthur in the crowd and was making a beeline for him. Gawain pointed to his own hog features. “I kept telling you _it’s me, Arthur_ when you dropped by Yolanda’s bedchamber. You knew it was me all along, didn’t you? You recognised me when I balanced that crab on my toe, just like I did by Lake Merthur, but you couldn’t resist teasing me, could you, Sire?”

Arthur slapped his forehead. “Of course! How could I forget the crab! Sorry, my friend, it’s just you look rather –“

“Like Merlin after a day in the stocks? Haha, yes, you’re quite right. I’m not surprised Leon and Elyan tied me up. It must have come as a bit of a shock, after all the trouble they had breaking down that heavy door to rescue a friend and finding hairy old me instead. No hard feelings about our little misunderstanding earlier, I trust? Don’t know what came over me on that stair case. For some unfathomable reason I thought you were after little Marigold!”

Arthur’s eyebrows rose and he took a cautious step backwards. “I assure you, Marigold or any other lady of this household is entirely yours...if that’s what you really want.”

“Oh, it’s alright, I’ll stand aside, if you’ve got feelings for Marigold, Sire; although speaking as one man to another, I don’t think Gwen will approve. Just promise you won’t take Marigold away from her home, when you leave. She’s quite a sensitive little soul and would only be homesick.”

“I’m feeling rather homesick myself...we’re their prisoners, remember?” Arthur leant forward and peered into the knight’s face. “Gawain, are you alright?”

Unding pushed Gawain out of the way and confronted Arthur. “Shut up, servant boy! Just because our ladies don’t resemble your tavern wench Gwen doesn’t mean a man has to be mad if he fancies –“

“Exactly, Arthur. Some people said you were quite mad marrying your Gwen, but I say each troll to his ow–“

“Oh shut up, Gawain! I just meant your snout looks pale and your ears –“

“What about them, Arthur?” Gawain’s pawed his ears. The tufts on their pointed tips came off and he stared at the strands of fur in his open palms. “Will you look at that? We’re hardly through July and I’ve started to moult. I thought you said trolls only did that in October, Mistress Marigold?”

Unding came closer and fingered Gawain’s ears. A small patch of fur came loose and drifted to the ground. “Well, I never! What’s with this fellow? None of the others have ever fought against the transformation as long as this one has and now he’s turning back – “ Unding stopped in mid-sentence and gasped. “My lady Yolanda...goodness...your face...what’s happening to you?”

A ripple of astonishment swept through the assembled trolls. The guards came closer and stared at their mistress; even the dog stopped yawning and sat up.


	12. 12

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> As Dragonara has lifted the spell, many revelations about Leofwine come to light - Gawain is the hero of the day, as his natural nobility broke the spell, not Arthur or Merlin's noble blood. The witches' father, Wulfric, is released from the spell he was under and no longer has to live as a giant dog, but he proves to be an arrogant, nasty ruler, worthy of Leofwine himself. It is a lesson how NOT to be a king for Arthur but also that sometimes magick can be used for good. When Wulfric tries to kill one of the knights, Marigold throws herself into the path and is killed. Arthur, Merlin and the knights start their long journey home to Camelot, where bloodthirsty Leofwine's army is getting impatient.

The ruined great hall at Castle Deira...

 

Everyone turned to Yolanda, who stood motionless by the hearth, staring at her waif-like hips. Merlin dug his ribs into Arthur’s side. “Look, no wart on her chin and her hair’s turning from grey to blonde. The curse is lifting!”

Instinctively, Arthur turned to look for his godmother, but she seemed to have vanished. Next to them their friend Gawain was beginning to moult at an alarming speed. He had begun to scratch his ears and neck, spreading fluff everywhere. Merlin sneezed, sending tufts of fur up into the air. 

Arthur’s face lit up at the sight of his friend’s familiar features emerging from the fur. “Look Merlin, even the tavern-bags under his eyes are gone!”

“So they are, but I bet his feet still stink like a bear’s behind!”

“I can break curses and spells, but I cannot perform miracles, Merlin.” Dragonara waved across the crowded hall. Merlin beamed at her through clouds of fur. Every troll had started to moult. All around them the great hall was gradually filling up with handsome young knights - with the exception of one particularly bulky guard. He was still talking goose fat and still looked very much like a troll. Dragonara shrugged her shoulders. “Some battles are doomed to failure.” Merlin laughed and waved to her. She smiled and waggled her hand in a regal gesture.

Within moments Gawain had transformed into his old self. He threw his arms around Merlin’s and Arthur’s neck, hugging them close.

“But how is this p-p-possible?” Ethelgunda took a fresh ladle from a hook on the wall and stirred the caldron. She sniffed the bubbling contents and shook her head; her gaze fell on Arthur, who grinned back at her. 

“Sorry my lady, I’m very much attached to my hair. You’ll have to find another noble scalp to spice up your soup. I thought to break the spell you needed high born blood?” 

“It wouldn’t have bothered Yolanda or me, but Marigold was always so squeamish, we had to use hair.” Ethelgunda eyed Gawain keenly. “None of the others ever managed to resist a spell this powerful. Who is that man? And, come to think of it, who the hell are you?”

“Simple, I’m Arthur and this is my friend Gawain, the finest knight at Camelot. You wanted noble blood and he supplied it! Now be content and let us go.”

“But if you’re Arthur, who’s that?” Ethelgunda’s hand pointed first at Merlin and then at her ruined hall. “He’s responsible for all this mess and I have a good mind to make somebody pay.” 

Arthur gazed at the remnants of her ancestral home and sympathized - to a degree. “This is nothing; you should see what Merlin does to my chambers at Camelot. Still, loyal servants are hard to come by and you’ll not find one more loyal than him.”

“A servant?” Ethelgunda screeched. “But...the brew seemed to work for a while...we all stayed young and hale for far longer than the usual hour...and then there were all those explosions...is he the natural son of an emperor that his blood should carry so much nobility?”

Arthur shrugged his shoulders. ”Nobility is not defined by birth; it’s a man’s choices and his actions that prove his worth...or hers.” He glanced over his shoulder at a point by the door, where Dragonara’s blonde head was bopping up and down in lively conversation with a handsome guard.

Meanwhile, Marigold and Yolanda had started to investigate the cauldron, too. Yolanda snatched the ladle from Ethelgunda’s hand and began fishing in the broth. “Look!” She caught Gawain’s handkerchief and held it up to the light. “The blood’s washed out.”

Marigold clapped her hands. “I told you so! The noble Gawain has set us free.”

A growl as loud as thunder silenced the hall. Everyone turned towards the entrance, where the two-headed dog had just entered and pounced on a member of their party. Merlin tried to get closer but several troll-turned-knight guards got in his way. He called out to Arthur, who snatched a sword from one of the knights and made his way across the hall to see his godmother prostrate, the dog’s mighty paws pinning her to the flagstones. 

“Get your filthy paws off her!” Arthur pointed his sword at the dog’s throat. 

The beast did not budge; instead, it began to tremble and shake. Slowly the paws turned to muscular hands, the fore and hind legs transformed into powerful arms and legs. The creature lifted both its heads and stared with four yellow eyes at Arthur, who dug the tip of his sword deeper into the beast’s broad neck. The creature’s transformation was almost complete. Two heads merged into one silver-haired crown. Finally, a crouching man peered down at Arthur’s sword, his eyes full of contempt.

 With a swipe of his hand he pushed Arthur’s sword out of the way and rose to his full height. He spat on Dragonara, who tried to get up but was flattened by his boot on her small back. “You dare show your face here, you harlot? I should have you horse-whipped for what you did to me.” 

Arthur took a step forward and raised his sword to the man’s chest. “Let her go or you’ll get acquainted with my blade!”

“Who’s this whelp, Dragonara? Your latest bed-fellow, I shouldn’t wonder.” 

“He’s Arthur, King of Camelot. The lady Dragonara is his godmother.” Merlin stepped out from a crowd of onlookers. Arthur’s servant also pointed a sword at the old man.

Merlin’s gaze searched the onlookers’ faces. None of the knights around them was lifting a finger to assist their lord. Castle Deira’s owner didn’t appear to have the respect he took for granted. Merlin scrutinised the old knight’s features; he was a man of about sixty, with a long nose and deep-set dark eyes. He wore old-fashioned robes, the type a noble man would have worn before Merlin was born. There were pearls and semi-precious stones sewn around the hem of his cloak and embroidery decorated the sleeves of the old man’s tunic. The man’s face was full of contempt.

“Why should I believe anything you say, boy? Yesterday you told us your name was Arthur and you were the king of Camelot.”

“He speaks the truth today; Merlin was just trying to protect my godson, his lord. Let them go, Wulfric. Your quarrel is with me.” Dragonara tried to get up but he kicked her hard and the blow winded her.

“I was talking to the boy!” Wulfric kicked her viciously. “Leofwine’s throne wasn’t enough for you, Madam? You had to insinuate yourself into Uther’s court as well as this one?” He laughed wildly. “But where are my manners! We have guests from abroad! Let’s have a little celebration in honour of Castle Deira’s deliverance. We shall have a bonfire this lady and her friends won’t forget in a hurry. Unding, fetch wood and kindling. I shall end this enchantment once and for all.”

Merlin stared at the person Wulfric had just addressed. The handsome officer standing just behind Arthur met Merlin’s gaze and shrugged his shoulders. Wulfric turned on him ferociously. “Stir your limbs, idle fellow, unless you want to feel my whip on your back. My daughters are no longer giving the orders around here. You’d better get used to it - I’m lord and master of this house.”

Unding remained rooted to the spot, so did his men. Wulfric evaded Arthur’s blade and slapped Unding’s face hard, but the guard neither retaliated nor moved a muscle.

The crowd of onlookers parted wordlessly to admit Gawain, who strode up to the old man and pointed his sword at Wulfric’s chest. “A fire in July? I wouldn’t recommend it, Sire, far too stuffy in my lady’s bed chamber.” The old man stared coldly at the three blades pointed at his body and snarled.

Marigold’s anxious face appeared at Gawain’s side. He raised his sword higher offering Wulfric the chance to have his throat cut three ways. “Here’s the thing, you flea-bitten old knave: harm one hair on Unding’s back and your hide will get such a lashing, you’ll look back fondly on your days as a two-headed hearth rug. You heard my liege, let his godmother go, she came here to help.”

“We don’t need her kind of help. You fool! I have no doubt this latest enchantment will vanish at dawn and you’ll turn back into the worthless hog you’ve always been.” The old man’s hand crept slowly up to his belt; he drew a silver dagger and lashed out at the nearest target, which just happened to be Gawain. 

Marigold screamed and threw herself into the path of the knife. Gawain caught her in his arms, but he was not fast enough; her slender body slid down to the floor and he dropped to his knees, her head resting on his chest.

“Little Marigold, what have you done? Your father’s right, I’m not worth losing your life over. I spent the night with your sister, when I should have slept in your arms.” 

She smiled up at Gawain’s pale face. “Don’t fret, it doesn’t hurt. My turn to shed a little blood, dear knight. I couldn’t let him harm you...not after all you’ve done.”

“But I didn’t do anything, not really –“

“Yes, you did. You offered to marry all three of us, remember? You lifted the curse and now everyone’s free. And you were kind to me last night...when I turned back into a hag before my sisters did...I drank more brew to make myself beautiful for you again in the morning...but you didn’t mock when I was old and shrivelled, you took another turn around the dance floor with me and gave me a kiss.”

Gawain blinked and stared at the dagger in her chest. He shook his head, when Arthur bent down over them to offer his help. Marigold’s blood was beginning to seep through her gown and form a puddle on the ground. 

Unding sank down beside her and folded his hands over hers. “My lady, please don’t leave us. I couldn’t bear to lose you...not now...after all we’ve been through.” He raised her hands to his lips and kissed her fingers.

“You mustn’t do that, Unding.” Marigold tried to withdraw her hands from his, but he wouldn’t let her. “My hands...so rough from all that baking and roasting...the hands of an old scullery maid...dear Unding, you’ve served us so loyally all these years...even when father mistreated you, you didn’t leave. I was so horrible to you...I teased you when we were growing up...I’d noticed you looking at Yolanda...she was always so beautiful...silly jealousy...you deserve a true lady as your mistress, one who treats you the way you deserve.” She freed one of her hands and touched his face gently, wiping away his tears. 

Unding shut his eyes. “Oh no, my lady. You’ll always be my mistress; there’ll never be anyone else.” Her fingers slid down his mouth and chin and finally to the floor, where her small, white hand came to rest in the pool of blood that had gathered beside her. Gawain lifted her hand gently and crossed her arm over her motionless chest. He tried to detach Unding from her other hand, but the guard wouldn’t let go; her fingers were still curled around his. Yolanda cried out and rushed over to her youngest sister. Ethelgunda staggered to the one and only chair and sank down. Unding’s face had turned pale and his lips trembled. 

Gawain placed his hand on the guard’s shoulder. “She was the finest baker and your devoted friend.” He looked down at her face, the skin smooth again, her hair as black as a raven’s coat, her limbs slender and youthful, as if the past twenty years had never occurred. “And the sweetest lady I’ve ever met.”

Beside them Wulfric stared down coldly. “Never was a father so burdened with a child as I was with this silly girl. No sense of decorum, no idea of obligation, not an ounce of nobility.”

“You flea-bitten monster! You shall pay for that!” Unding shot up and hurled himself at Wulfric; he punched his former master hard in the face. Surprised by the ferocity of the attack, Wulfric stumbled over Dragonara and fell. The old man had no chance of fighting back, Unding’s fists landed blow after blow, his boots kicked without mercy. 

Arthur, Gawain and Merlin eventually managed to pull Unding off the old man. Arthur lifted him to his feet and Gawain searched him for any more concealed weapons, but found none. Gawain bound his wrists and pushed him into the centre of the hall, while Arthur held on to Unding, who snarled and fought to get free again.

The old knight spat contemptuously on the floor: “Had she lived, you could have had her and be welcome to the stupid mare. In fact, take your pick from the remaining two idiots; they have cost me dearly, so take them both away, if they please you! I even give you a dowry, provided I don’t have to see their faces ever again. I paid for their stupidity with twenty years of my life. No suitor was ever good enough for my conceited daughters – not until Leofwine came along and Yolanda fell for his charms.”

Arthur relieved one of the guards off his duster and rammed it into Wulfric’s mouth. “I liked you better when you were a two-headed hound. You smelled better and there was less noise.” He looked around for his godmother. “Merlin, go find my sword. It’s about time we found the others and returned to Camelot. I’ve had my fill of foreign hospitality and can’t wait to get back home.” 

“With pleasure, Sire.” Merlin headed out of the hall, but stopped, when he found Dragonara hunched over Marigold’s lifeless form. Yolanda and Ethelgunda were by her side, one sobbing quietly; the other outwardly composed but clearly shocked to her core.

Dragonara had placed her hand on Marigold’s chest and was about to remove the dagger. Arthur stopped her. “Come, it’s time to leave. There’s nothing you could have done to prevent this. It is not your fault.” He laid his hands on her shoulders and tried to lift her up gently, but she resisted. 

Her stern face looked up at him. “Nothing you can say will console me.” She stared at the substance clinging to her fingers. “This was my doing.”

“But you undid your sorcery! You helped break the spell. Wulfric caused her death, he’s to blame. I wouldn’t be surprised, if he didn’t offer his daughters to Leofwine in the first place.” Arthur bent down closer to his godmother’s ear. “If you feel the urge to turn him back into a hound, don’t hold back on my account, will you?” 

Merlin blinked. Had Arthur just given his blessing to the use of magic for a good cause?


	13. 13

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Unable to procure a dragon's heart in time for Leofwine's deadline, Queen Gwen is determined to sacrifice herself for the greater good of Camelot and its king. Impatient, Leofwine starts waging war on Camelot anyway, regardless of the deadline. Meanwhile, Prince Urien, Leofwine's wayward son, wants to test out the caskets of wine his father ordered him to steal from Castle Deira, but he and his men find themselves surrounded by Arthur and his knights. While they are debating what is to happen now and what Leofwine's plans might be for Arthur and Camelot, they hear a scream - it's coming from nearby, just down the hill...Arthur and Merlin race off into the darkness...

A bed chamber in Camelot...

 

The dawn rose in shades of amber, dusty pink and lavender over Camelot. A cold breeze entered the royal bed chamber, causing the red velvet curtains to stir. It blew a parchment off the central table and toyed with it for a moment, before returning to tug at the heavy curtains.

Gwen shivered and stooped to pick up the parchment. “By royal decree I, Queen Guinevere, in the absence of His Royal Majesty King Arthur Pendragon, as the regent and protector of Camelot...,” she sighed and returned the parchment to the table.

The Queen wrapped her woollen shawl tightly around her shoulders and closed the window to return to her princely four-poster bed...a bed that seemed far too large of late. She stretched out her legs, plumped up one of the pillows and rested her aching head. With a brief glance at the empty pillow next to her, she picked up Aurelius Smarticus’ book on dragons and re-read the passage Gaius had marked for her.

Today was the day of reckoning. Any moment now a messenger from King Leofwine’s camp would be riding up the ramparts and demand an audience with the Queen, the regent and protector of the citadel. Would she be handing over the dragon heart, the price for safe deliverance of Camelot and its people?

The Queen sighed and wiped away a tear that had stolen into the corner of her eye. How could she possibly protect the citadel from total destruction? Leofwine was a mad-man, obsessed and jealous, deaf to reason. She looked down on her work-worn hands and shook her head resignedly. How could a servant maid pit her wits against a king?

Unable to get back to sleep, Gwen rose, washed and dressed without rousing her maid. She sat down at her table and picked up the parchment again. All that was missing was her signature. If only she knew what Arthur would do in her shoes – would he sacrifice one living being for the greater good of Camelot?

Uncomfortable as the truth might be, she realised with a pang that the answer would be an unequivocal YES. Arthur would have no hesitation laying down his own life, let alone that of some troublesome magical creature, if it meant saving his people. Gwen took up the goose feather next to her and dipped it in ink. Wasn’t it her role to stop Arthur from making such decisions, if an alternative could be found? She watched the dark fluid drip off the sharp end of her goose feather, a droplet staining the parchment’s header. Gwen watched with morbid fascination as the dark liquid spread and the stain grew on the pale surface of the scroll...like blood seeping through a shirt, like a wound festering, like poison spreading through a hardened heart.

If only she could find another solution – but Aurelius’ book had left her in no doubt, this was the only way to save Camelot. Gwen took a deep breath and realised she had never felt so alone in her entire life, not even when her father Tom had been cruelly executed by Uther Pendragon for a crime he had not committed.

She raised the goose feather and signed her name on the parchment in the knowledge that Arthur would approve, but her own heart would never be quite the same again.

Gwen was called back to her surroundings by a commotion in the corridor outside her chamber. The door was torn open and one of the guards appeared.

“Beggin’ your pardon, my lady, King Leofwine himself is at the gate...with about half his army at his heels. What message, my lady?”

Gwen rose quietly, disregarding the parchment in front of her. “Tell him, we have located a dragon’s heart, but it will take another day to secure it. If he will grant us one more day, Arthur himself will hand him the heart King Leofwine so desires.”

The guard saluted and turned on the spot, marching out of his lady’s bedchamber as quickly as he had entered. Gwen sank back onto her wooden bench and turned over the parchment, unable to bear the sight of her own signature. Had she done the right thing? Playing for time was a dangerous business.

A moment later, she had her answer. Two fanfares sounded down below in the encampment. Shortly afterwards shouts and screams followed. Gwen rose reluctantly and returned to her window. She unfastened the clasp and opened the small lead-glass door into the world beyond. The lavender sky was streaked with glowing yellow now...glowing shooting stars coming straight at the citadel.

She swallowed hard and faced what she knew to be the result of her weakness and indecision. The encampment had sprung to life; torches were marching up towards the ramparts of the citadel, teams of oxen were pulling heavy equipment up the hill; archers had already gathered in formations to join the throng of crossbowmen and knights. The first burning arrows hit the outer ramparts. The second salve reached its target. A strangled scream rose up to the Queen’s window; she leant out to see a man collapse on the guard’s walkway below her lofty lookout. An arrow stuck out of his chest. She gasped in horror.

“Gaius!”

The spectacle of war unfolded under the lavender sky, where the first war machines were appearing on the horizon. Down below, at the edge of his encampment, King Leofwine rubbed his hands together, glee lighting up his face.

“How’s that for a taste of kingship, my lady Guinevere? I shall have my revenge and my honour shall be restored. Camelot’s fields will by drenched by her soldiers’ blood.” Laughing, Leofwine raised his arm and shook his fist towards Gwen’s window. “Once I have the dragon’s heart, nothing will stop me!”

***

 

In woodland surrounding Castle Deira...

 

“This was far too easy! Where were the guards, the soldiers, the servants? Castle Deira can’t be deserted, surely?” Urien’s men shrugged their shoulders, while their leader paced up and down, leaving heavy foot prints in the leaf-strewn soil. Urien sank down on the cart that held the kegs of wine they had “liberated” from Castle Deira’s wine cellar. He pulled off his gloves and loosed his cloak. “I don’t know about you, my friends, but I could do with a tankard full of something!”

“Now you’re talking our language, Sire!” Siward, Urien’s servant, patted the kegs lovingly. “Fine vintage, your father said. Perhaps we should make sure that it’s the right vintage in these barrels, before we present them to our liege? We wouldn’t want to disappoint his Majesty, would we now?” The man grinned from ear to ear.

Urien smiled and got up. He drew out his dagger and began to loosen the stopper in one of the kegs. “Hand me the goblets from my saddle bag, Siward.” 

The stopper came loose with a loud POP and fell into the tall grass around them. Siward bent down and picked it up. “Hm, nice aroma. Must have been down in that cellar for twenty years or more. There’s not going to be a finer wine at your father’s table, Sire.” The man poured a liberal quantity into a wooden goblet. “To your very good health, Sire.” Siward raised his full goblet and drank deeply; the other man followed his example. Only Urien held back.

“I don’t think you should drink any more of this stuff. I can’t help feeling uneasy about this,” Urien sniffed the wine in his goblet. “My father’s generosity usually comes at a heavy price.”

Siward scratched his belly thoughtfully and smacked his lips. “Hm, perhaps you’re right. There’s a funny aftertaste to this wine.”

“That’ll be the troll dung they flavoured it with hereabouts.” Gawain stepped out of his hiding place and presented himself with drawn sword. “Another goblet of this and your ears will start tickling, your belly will start bulging and you’ll become a troll...not that one could actually tell the difference with a face like yours, mind.”

Prince Urien drew his own sword. “And who might you be that you should make fun of my servants?”

“My, the thieves in these parts must be doing well, if they can afford to keep servants?” Gawaine pointed to the illicit barrels. “That’s the crest of our lady Marigold’s family.” Gawaine was joined by Arthur, Merlin and Unding, who shot out from their hiding place behind the bushes, when he heard his dead mistress’ name.

Prince Urien smiled. “I think you’ll find that my own crest depicting the house of Leofwine and Segovia is painted on the other side of these barrels.” He walked over to one of the barrels and turned it over, so the knights could inspect the crest. “These barrels were stolen from my father on his way to Camelot, which that young knave Merlin over there knows only too well.” Urien pointed his sword at Arthur.

Before Merlin could step forward and explain the misunderstanding, Arthur rounded on Urien. “Why is your father travelling to Camelot? I don’t want to sound inhospitable, but our guests don’t usually set off with a cart load of enchanted wine as a welcome gift to the king and queen.”

Urien slapped his forehead and laughed. “I had forgotten how forward Camelot’s servants are. What business my father has at Camelot has nothing to do with you, knave.”

Dragonara had joined the group before Unding and Merlin could stop her. “But it has everything to do with me! Mind your manners, Urien, you are addressing the king of Camelot. His faithful servant Merlin here,” she pointed to the real Merlin with a smile, “impersonated his master to keep him safe from the trolls and witches, leaving King Arthur no choice but to take on his servant’s role until he knew who and what he was dealing with. Now, tell me, what is your infernal father doing at Camelot?”

A refreshing breeze rushed through the bushes and shrubs surrounding them. A couple of sparrows, startled by the movement in the branches, launched into the air and flew off, their flight accompanied by angry tweets and chatter. Merlin watched the young man’s face closely. Prince Urien clearly hoped the small distraction would give him time to gather his thoughts and come up with a satisfactory answer, one that wouldn’t strictly speaking be a lie and yet, would not give too much away either. He owed his father that much. He opened his mouth and stared at his one-time step-mother’s face, but before he could speak, the breeze carried another sound with it that made everyone’s hair stand on end.

A scream filled the air, a desperate, lonely sound, a soul in danger, a person fighting for their life. Something in that voice forced Urien to turn around. He listened intently, his face had lost all colour.

“Quick, it’s coming from the woodland behind the moat!” Arthur raced off with Merlin at his heels.

 


	14. 14

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Arthur and Merlin race down the hill to where the scream came from. Arthur takes a tumble and temporarily knocks himself out, but Merlin continues running. The sight that greets him at the bottom of the hill stuns him - Oswiu has attacked Eleanor and Eliffer, who tried to protect his sister, has been killed. Something extraordinary is revealed, when Eliffer is in his dead throes; the boy is not what he seemed to be. Oswiu has also killed gentle Bede, Eleanor's horse which tried to come to her rescue. Using magic, Merlin covers up Oswiu's crime by dealing with the murderer and rapist himself. At Camelot, Gwen is having to deal with a nearly dead Gaius, who has been hit by a poisoned arrow from Leofwine's camp. Terrified villagers seek shelter at the citadel, but Gwen doesn't have enough knights and soldiers to protect Camelot against the mighty army assembled outside. Leaving Geoffrey of Monmouth in charge of Gaius' care, Gwen prepares to make her sacrifice. A stranger arrives from Prince Urien with an urgent message for Gwen. Can Hueil stop Gwen from making a terrible mistake?

His longer legs gave Merlin usually the advantage, but Arthur was trained in combat and tracking an opponent was second nature to him. He dived down the hill and only stopped once to get his bearings, which Merlin used to his benefit. He gained on Arthur, leaving the knights well behind. Arthur had reached mid-point on his descent, when another scream filled the valley below and its pain and horror rose up to spur him on. Merlin could hear Gawain and Percival pelt after them, but felt rather than saw Urien follow hard on Arthur’s heels. Merlin feared his chest would burst with the effort, but he carried on running, running, not minding the twigs scratching his face, just running, running, following his king, no matter where it might lead him.

Nearing the bottom of the hill, Arthur lost his footing and tumbled, rising briefly but falling down again, holding his head. Merlin caught up with him and laid a solicitous hand on his liege’s dented forehead, but Arthur shook him off and urged him on his way. His head was used to knocks and the king was merely winded. Leaving his king and the others behind, Merlin raced on, now and again slipping on loose soil and pebbles, falling over a bushel of dry grass, but scrambling up again with dust and twigs clinging to his shirt, his knees smarting from the blow.

He carried on his descent, changing direction more often than a hare escaping from a fox, before finally crashing through a row of yellow gorse bushes, where he came to an abrupt halt at the bottom of the hill. Here scorched earth gradually turned into a lush meadow with wild flowers swaying gently in the breeze, before the land began falling away into a bubbling brook that fed the moat at Castle Deira. The sight greeting him took Merlin’s breath away and nearly turned his stomach. Tears rose to his eyes and a sob escaped his lips.

There wasn’t a moment to lose – he could hear Arthur and the others following him further up the hill. It wouldn’t take them long to reach him. He stooped and bent over the lifeless body of the small dragon by his feet. Merlin gently closed its staring eyes and stroked the golden crest on its neck, still warm to the touch. He took a deep breath, rose and turned towards the twisted body of a young girl, her face swollen, bloodied, and her eyes wide with fear. Merlin stood rooted to the spot, the horror of the meadow etched forever in his mind.

Oswiu’s left hand was firmly pressed over the girl’s mouth, while his other hand was eagerly tearing at her white shift, the nakedness of her legs shaming him, not her. His bodyweight had pinned her down, where her struggle against his betrayal had dislodged a clump of poppies and cornflowers in the meadow, their mournful heads bopping gently up and down in tune with the breeze.

For a moment all Merlin could focus on where the blood red blossoms and the azure sparkle next to them. He forced the tears from his lashes and a deep golden glow began to fill his eyes. Merlin’s gaze took in the trampled grass and the torn dress, the pleading in the girl’s face that was now turned towards him. He saw the man’s sweat stain his bare back and shoulders and took in the glistening, child-size sword lying next to the baby dragon. Time stood still, allowing Merlin’s senses to catch up, permitting his heart to record the loss he would feel for the rest of his days.

At the edge of the treeline a horse had collapsed, its legs lay crumpled under its magnificent body. He closed his eyes, but he could not shut out the knights’ whinnying mounts under the great oak, where Eliffer had tied up the animals, before rushing to his sister’s aid. Wearily, Merlin opened his eyes again; blood was still oozing, where Oswiu had stuck his dagger into the centre of Bede’s forehead to prevent the children’s flight.

Merlin felt a wave of rage taking hold of his whole being, a feeling he had never experienced before. He tried to suppress it, tried to calm himself and leave the fate of this man to Arthur and the laws of Camelot, but his eyes fell upon the girl’s grazed feet and the blood in the baked earth, where Oswiu had dragged her across the ground.

Merlin raised his hand as if that small gesture could block out the disgust he felt for the man or the pity swelling up inside him for the girl, the dragon Eliffer and gentle Bede. From deep within Merlin’s heart words rose to his throat and burst through his lips, words so terrifying in their intensity and force, they seemed to split the air like lightning following thunder.

***

Gaius’ chamber in Camelot...

 

“Will you stop fussing, girl!” Gaius pushed the Queen’s hand away and sat up laboriously under his own steam. “Hasn’t Her Majesty something a trifle more important to do than ministering to the wounds of an old man...like saving Camelot from that madman Leofwine for example?”

Gwen raised an eyebrow. “Now what could be more important than saving an old friend?” She had tried to administer a compress of herbs and honey to Gaius’ chest, where the arrow had narrowly missed his heart, but her patient and her own maid had intervened. Emma, her new maid, gently but firmly took charge. The old physician’s hands shook slightly as he took the compress from Gwen and pressed it hard his against his wound. He winced but said nothing; instead, he turned to Emma and ordered her to bring him some fresh water and some wine for the Queen. The maid left his chamber reluctantly, turning at the door to glance at the sickbed, her eyes wide and full of fear.

She opened her mouth to speak but for the moment she was too distracted by the flickering light that illuminated the small window on the opposite wall. Fires raged on the forecourt, flames had begun to threaten the machicolations that served archers as launch pads for their missiles and guards as lookout platforms from where to observe the goings on in the enemy’s camp. It wouldn’t be long now before the first attackers breached the walled fortifications. Their war machines were already at the final gates.

Emma started at the sound of a huge rock finding its target. The citadel seemed to tremble from the force of its impact. Leofwine’s new catapults were working to perfection. The maid visibly forced herself not to flee and instead turned her pale face once more towards the patient and his regal physician.

“My lady, he won’t admit it but I’ve dealt with this kind of wound before. If the arrow was poisoned, the infection will spread and he will get weaker by the hour.”

“Then we must stop the poison from spreading, Emma. Fetch me some leaches from the tank over there.”

Gaius inhaled sharply. “You’re not going to set leaches on me now, girl? There’s really no need, I’m fine! Hand me my cloak and I’ll accompany you to the council chambers.” Gaius tried to get up but failed utterly even to raise one leg from his bed.

“You were quite prepared to face Leofwine’s army out on those ramparts, but you cannot brave one little leach?” Gwen snorted. “You’re not a knight, Gaius! It’s perfectly acceptable to show weakness and suffering.” She plumped up the old man’s pillows and eased him gently into a more comfortable position. Emma appeared at her side and handed her a small phial.

Gaius grunted and accepted his fate. “How long do you think we can hold out against Leofwine’s forces?”

“Until Arthur returns! What else can we do?” Gwen recoiled slightly, when Emma dropped the first leach on Gaius’ wound. The women watched in silence as the slimy black creature burrowed its way into Gaius’ flesh. Gwen feared she would wretch, but this sensation was overtaken by something far more distasteful happening around her. A second rock hit a part of the domestic quarters and the shock of the impact brought down a shelf containing some of Giaus’ prized tinctures and ointments with a crash. Glass phials shattered, essential herb oils spilled across the floor, powdered medicines kept in earthenware containers exploded with a bang and precious parchments fluttered to the ground to mingle with blue, green, yellow and pink tinctures. Gaius raised an unsteady fist and cursed Leofwine.

Gwen beamed. “My old friend must be on the mend, if he can use such language! Sit with him, Emma. I must go and hold council. I will send someone to help you clear up this mess.” Gwen snatched Aurelius’ dragon book from Gaius’ bedside table and hurried off, leaving the old man raging against Leofwine’s catapults and Emma’s solicitude.

Gwen hastened through the dark corridors with unseeing eyes. Once or twice she came across a guard looking for more weapons or a knight barking an order at his soldiers, but the citadel’s chambers were all but deserted with the majority of her fellow inmates fighting on the ramparts and in the courtyards outside. She stopped at an arrow slit and peered outside. The forecourt was crawling with knights and guards trying to prevent enemy soldiers from scaling the castle walls. Camelot servants were rushing here and there to strengthen their defences at the gates.

Gwen held her breath: the east gate was still letting in people, a never ending stream of men, women and children, cattle and carts, refugees from the outer villages, were being hurried along and herded into the bowels of the citadel, where they found shelter in the dungeons. In the distance, across the expanse of tents that was her enemy’s encampment, Gwen could see the first signs of dawn...the day when the dragon heart was due to be handed over was already upon her! Her heart began to race; blood seemed to drain from her face, arms and hands, leaving her hot and cold at the same time; she tore herself away and hurried to the council chamber, where a circle of anxious faces turned towards her when the heavy doors fell back into their lock behind her, shutting her in with a brace of advisers, whose counsel would no longer be of any use.

She nodded a brief greeting and sank down on her throne. “Thank you all for assembling so promptly.” When Geoffrey of Monmouth rose to speak, Gwen raised her hand and cut him off. “I know you are anxious to hear our old friend Gaius is doing well...for now. Emma is with him and knows what to do. Geoffrey, I’m in sore need of good news. Has there been word from Arthur?”

Geoffrey shook his head but risked a smile. “No, my lady, but there may have been a sighting of him on the Merthur Road! The source is somewhat dubious, a shepherd from one of the outer villages, but from the way he described the men, we can be hopeful he saw Arthur and his knights.”

Gwen’s hands shot to her mouth; before she could stop herself, an audible sigh of relief had escaped her lips. “My Arthur is coming home!” She tried to compose herself as befitted a lady of her standing but she could not hide the smile lighting up her face or the sparkle brightening her eyes.

“I trust my report qualifies as good news, my lady?” Geoffrey beamed back at his queen. “He will be here by noon at the latest. If we can hold out until then –“

“We shall, Geoffrey, we shall! Knights of Camelot, my trusted advisors, we must strengthen our defences and take the fight to Leofwine, if we can. How are the preparations for our own mangonels coming along? Is there anything our soldiers need that we haven’t thought of, yet?”

Sir Edward de Mangetout got up and cleared his throat. “Erm...no my lady...short of producing a dragon’s heart, we’ve done everything we can to protect the citadel. Leofwine’s catapults have a far wider reach than ours. The gates are holding but Camelot’s west wing has taken rather a battering -”

A scuffle erupted outside the council chamber’s doors; the sound of clashing swords and poll-axes on shields echoed through the long corridors; everyone’s eyes turned towards the two guards protecting the entrance of the council chamber with little more than their lances. Gwen rose quietly and folded her hands.

“It seems we are too late. The enemy is already at our door. This is my fault! You deserved a queen, who could reign like a true monarch, but ended up with a misguided servant girl who believed, she could protect Camelot and her king.” A tear rolled down her cheek, followed by another and another. Gwen wiped the traitors away with an angry swipe and picked up a parchment and goose feather from the table in front of her. She handed both to Sir Edward, who took them wordlessly before signing his name below the Queen’s own signature. He handed the goose feather to his neighbour and one by one, eight council members added their names to the parchment. Gwen sighed with relief and scrutinized the circle of pale faces surrounding her.

“We do not have a dragon’s heart to give to Leofwine, but he shall not remain empty-handed for long.” The council members watched in horror, as Gwen pulled a silver dagger from her sleeve. Her glance came to rest on a face she had known all her life. “Mine is but a poor substitute, but I shall give it gladly in the hope that it will appease him.”

Geoffrey shook his head, his lips trembling. “No! My lady, I implore you! You mustn’t...Arthur will never forgive us, if we let you sacrifice –“

“Silence! You have your orders.” Gwen turned to Geoffrey and handed him the dagger. “Do what you must do...and please look after Gaius for me.” The old librarian nodded with tears welling up in his eyes and received the dagger from her hand.

She slowly untied the ribbons that braided her corset at the front of her gown and pulled down a sleeve, exposing her shoulder and the swelling of her breast. A collective gasp escaped the council members’ throats as Gwen reached out, raising Geoffrey’s hand to her chest, the silver dagger gleaming in the candle light as it came to rest against the Queen’s skin. Geoffrey’s hand shook violently, preventing him from pressing the dagger into her flesh.  Gwen smiled, laid her hand over his wrist and whispered: “For Camelot!”

“For Camelot!” Every council member repeated her words; their lips moving as if in slow motion, their eyes focussing anywhere but on the Queen, their faces filled with pride and utter sorrow.

Gwen closed her eyes and thought of the day when Arthur had first kissed her. The happiness of that day and the warmth of his lips transported her, rendering the sting of the blade against her breast meaningless in the light of such bliss. “Now, old friend,” she said and held her breath.

The doors flew open, sending the two guards flying across the council chamber’s floor. Gwen opened her eyes and stared. A man had appeared in the doorway, his face seemed vaguely familiar. She searched her mind, but for the moment her head felt utterly empty; his cloak was dusty from his long travels, his mail shirt torn, his hair unwashed and his grin was as wide as the gap between the kind of queen Gwen thought she should be and the one she actually was.

“Beggin’ my Queen’s pardon, but Prince Urien has sent word. He’s met up with Arthur and they’ve mobilised an army to come to Camelot’s aid.” Noticing the look on the council members’ faces for the first time, the man scratched his stubbly chin. “I say, I’m not interrupting anything important, am I?”

“Hueil!” Gwen’s knees gave way and she sank down on the throne behind her and broke into helpless laughter. “Nothing important at all! Geoffrey here was just entertaining us with his recommended book list for the winter. Arthur will be pleased. He’s long been saying how he should read more.”

Sir Edward gulped and dug his elbow into the librarian’s ribs. The old man stared uncomprehendingly at this friend. When the implication finally penetrated his mind, Geoffrey rushed to the table and stabbed the parchment right through its treacherous heart. Everyone watched as the silver dagger shivered to a halt. Hueil raised an eyebrow and was about to comment, but Gwen got in first.

“Geoffrey, I hope you won’t insist on His Majesty perusing the final eight on the list. Come to think of it, they’d probably give him heartburn!”


	15. 15

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> To avenge Eliffer's death and the assault on Eleanor, Merlin kills Oswiu in a fit of rage. He changes Eliffer's body back to what is once was and covers up Eleanor's wounds as best he can. Fearing that Leofwine's jealous rage will draw all the remaining kingdom's into a war with Dunadd to avenge the attack on Camelot, Dragonara resolves to return to her kingdom with Prince Urien at her side. Arthur finds out that Leofwine's price for leaving Camelot alone is a dragon's heart, but he tells Prince Urien there are no longer any dragons living in Camelot's realm. Arthur, Merlin and the knights prepare to return to Camelot, having persuaded Dragonara to return with them instead of running off to Dunadd, where she can't do any good. She tells Arthur that there is one more dragon left and that Arthur should slay it to satisfy mad Leofwine. Merlin is horrified.

At the foot of a hill near Castle Deira...

 

Merlin raised his hand, his fingers shaking slightly, and the very air seemed to tremble with the intensity of his gaze. Oswiu’s shoulders were yanked backwards; Merlin could almost hear the bones crack from the force of his spell. The man fought against the incantation with every fibre of his being; straining against the force he leaned forward and grabbed Eleanor’s arms, but the power of Merlin’s words released the girl from Oswiu’s hands, breaking the man’s fingers one by one. Oswiu cried out in pain, turning to Merlin for mercy, but the sorcerer’s eyes burned too brightly with pity for the girl, clouding any compassion for the man. Oswiu’s body rose up into the air, where he hovered above the girl, a writhing, screaming puppet unable to escape its master.

All around them the meadow began to whisper and tremble; the tall grass turned into a churning, bubbling sea; the breeze tore at the poppies and scattered their scarlet blossoms like blood drops at a lion’s feast over the man and girl, before plucking the cornflowers from the earth and lining them up alongside a deep gash in the soil opening up just a few feet away from the body of the horse.

A gust of wind picked up the child’s dagger and sliced the air in one swift motion, its high-pitched scream piercing the sorcerer’s conscience, urging him to do what was right. When Merlin dropped his hand, the dagger found its aim. Oswiu’s hands rose up to his forehead for an instant, as if to yank out the blade trembling between his eyes; the expression on his face bore more surprise than rage, when his hands no longer had the strength to touch the blade. With his final breath Oswiu’s body dropped from the air like a stone, drenching the girl underneath in a pool of blood.

Merlin hurried over to Eleanor. He rolled Oswiu’s corpse off her, mumbling another spell as he did so. Eleanor’s shift slid down to her ankles instantly, hiding the bruises on her legs and allowing her to get up with some dignity.

“Leave the talking to me,” Merlin hissed, when they heard Urien and Dragonara call out to them from further up the hill. Already, they could see Arthur’s blonde head appear above the clumps of hazel and gorse at the bottom of the hill; any moment now the others would be upon them.

Eleanor was too weak to stand; she held on to Merlin’s arm and stared down at her attacker. “Father trusted him...his most loyal servant.” She could say no more and buried her face in Merlin’s tunic.

“Crying is good after hand-to-hand combat.” Merlin said and laid an arm around her shoulders; she clung to him like a child. He buried his face in her hair and shut his eyes, trying hard to stop his own feelings from overwhelming him. ”Even the great warrior Arthur sheds a tear now and then...clears the nasal passages apparently,” he muttered, when he felt her strength failing her. He helped her sit down on a nearby tree stump, where she buried her face in her hands and wept freely.  

“MERLIN, where the hell are you?” Arthur’s voice roared from somewhere among the gorse bushes up ahead. “If you’ve allowed yourself to be captured by Leofwine’s scouts, I’ll kill you myself!”

“Sorry to disappoint you, Sire, you’ll have to put up with me for a while longer!” Merlin cleared his throat and dried his face with the sleeve of his tunic. He squinted up at the lush vegetation ahead of him, trying to assess by the sound of Arthur’s voice how quickly the others would be upon them. He realised there wasn’t a moment to lose and raised his hand once more; his eyes flashed up golden, but this time nothing happened. He frowned and, raising both his hand towards the dead dragon, he tried again, concentrating harder this time. Searching his mind for even more ancient magic than the one he had used before, he was finally rewarded when a gentle mist enveloped the baby dragon, before the body of Eliffer reappeared. It had taken all of Merlin’s power to bring the transformation about. He felt his knees give way and he sank to the ground. Something warm and sticky began to run down his nose and across his lips. He touched his mouth and stared with disbelief at his fingertips which were stained by a red substance. Merlin’s nose was bleeding badly. He lowered his head between his knees and tried hard not to blow blood-bubbles, but the stream would not stop. Across the meadow, Arthur had made it past the gorse and hazel and had almost reached the foot of the hill. Left with little choice, Merlin pulled himself together and mumbled one final spell. The blood stopped flowing instantly but now he felt completely drained.

Merlin glanced over his shoulder at Eleanor, who was sitting up in a more composed manner than before. The first wave of sorrow had swept over her, now it was time to deal with the consequences. Merlin approved of her resolve. She pointed at the dead boy’s small figure and said in a barely audible voice. “You’ve got magic!”

“I beg of you...don’t mention to anyone what I just did. Eleanor, someone weaved an incredibly powerful spell to transform this dragon into a human being...I’ve never encountered such strong magic before. Did you...know what the boy was?”

“Of course! He was sweet and gentle...and...I loved him,” she raised her tear-stained, swollen face defiantly. “He was my brother.”

Merlin managed a weak smile. “That makes him mine, too.” He eyed her keenly. “Tell me...did Dragonara find both of you when you were eggs and save you...hide you from persecution by transforming you...she must be an extraordinarily powerful sorceress, if she did?”

Before Eleanor could answer, Arthur and Urien crashed through the cornflowers and poppies simultaneously, both coming to an abrupt halt when they saw the dead man and Eleanor’s torn dress. Urien darted forward and tried to gather Eleanor up in his arms but she pushed him away, not unkindly or distrustful, rather full of resolve not to lean on him. Behind them, Siward and Dragonara arrived out of breath, each freezing on the spot, when the whole horror of the scene before them unfolded. Kai brought up the rear, gawping open-mouthed at his mistress’ bare shoulders before turning his stare to his overlord’s dead squire.

Seeing Eleanor taken care of by her step-son, Dragonara turned to Merlin and pointed at Oswiu’s corpse, but at that moment she caught a glimpse of Eliffer and cried out in horror; she rushed over and threw herself over his motionless body, gathering him up in her arms and pressing his pale face to her lips.

Arthur pulled a blood-stained Merlin to one side. “I know my head took a knock up there on the hill...but I distinctly remember saying _find Eleanor_ , not _start a massacre_!” The king pointed to a discarded cloak that carried Segovia’s coat of arms. “How am I supposed to negotiate Leofwine’s retreat from Camelot, when you slaughter members of his household?”

“Trust me, Sire...had Urien found them before I did – ” Merlin inclined his head towards Eleanor. “It was better this way.”

Arthur’s eyes widened at the sight of the dagger between Oswiu’s eyes. “You don’t mean to say that man tried to...?” Arthur’s gaze travelled from his man servant’s tear-stained face to Eleanor’s bruised shoulders and back to Oswiu’s twisted bodyand he finally comprehended.

Merlin dropped his own gaze, staring at his boots rather than meeting Arthur’s inquisitive eye. “He did more than just trying, my lord...he succeeded.”

“Then you did right and he got what he deserved.” Arthur finally managed to say with a look of pity aimed at the girl. He held out his hand and Merlin took it hesitantly, expecting the usual liberty to be taken with his person; instead of having his hand crushed as expected, he felt Arthur’s battle-hardened fingers enclose his own hand with warmth and feeling. Surprised, Merlin lifted his head and met Arthur’s steady gaze. The king’s cornflower blue eyes searched Merlin’s face and, apparently finding exactly what he had expected to see there, Arthur pulled his servant closer and whispered in his ear:“Merlin, I didn’t know you had it in you! I’d better watch my step or you’ll be challenging me at the tournament next!”

Letting go of Merlin’s hand abruptly, Arthur turned, loosened the broach that fastened his cloak and slid the garment from his shoulders. He approached the girl wordlessly and wrapped his cloak gently around Eleanor’s grazed and bruised shoulders. Urien helped her to cover her torn dress and shift, keeping her as close to him as she would allow.

Dragonara rose with tears streaming down her face. Merlin could sense her pain as if it were a branding iron searing his skin. He felt connected to her in some peculiar way; an invisible umbilical cord linked him to this mysterious queen. This was far more intense than anything he had ever experienced before when meeting another member of the old religion. He looked into her face and realised the sorrow and rage he saw there surpassed his own a thousand times. He caught a glimpse of a soul that had witnessed human evil for centuries, a once gentle soul that was now in short supply of mercy. Instinctively, he withdrew, protecting his innermost self from coming into contact with such limitless fury.

Dragonara roused herself and turned on her step-son. “Urien, in the light of what has happened here perhaps you will dispense with your usual flippancy and tell us what Leofwine is really doing in Camelot? It cannot be merely to avenge his hurt pride and restore me to Dunadd! Those would be the actions of a husband who still cares for his wife. Alas, there has never been any great love between your father and me. You may not approve of my actions but you cannot accuse me of ever doing anything that has harmed you or your kingdom. If Leofwine starts a war with Camelot, the other four kingdoms will be drawn into it, whether they like it or not. They must adhere to their obligations under the treaty they have with Arthur.” Dragonara planted her feet firmly in front of her step-son and glared at him. “Thousands of innocent people will die on all sides! Do you want the armies of five kingdoms to lay waste to your beloved Dunadd?”

Urien drew Eleanor closer to him and sighed. “No, of course not! Father has turned on Camelot in the mistaken belief Arthur would grant you sanctuary, allowing you to carry on cuckolding Father from the safety of Camelot. I’m not in Father’s confidence, but I do know he has given Queen Guinevere an ultimatum. She must give him –“ Urien shifted his weight from one leg to the other and stared at his boots rather than meet Dragonara’s fierce gaze. Her sharp intake of breath prompted him to continue. “Begging you pardon...it’s just too fantastical for words! Queen Guinevere must produce a dragon’s heart by sunrise.” Urien raised his eyes defiantly and met Dragonara’s stare.

“And who told you that...when exactly? From what I hear you’ve been busy pilfering in Castle Deira’s wine cellars. How could a dragon’s heart restore your father’s honour and reputation...not that he’s ever had much of that in the first place?”

“My faithful servant Hueil has kept me informed through our most trusted messenger.” Urien smiled wanly and pointed upwards at a falcon circling above their heads. “Beats me what Father might want with such a beastly thing, but there it is, he demands a dragon heart or else.”

Arthur pulled a face. “He’ll have a long wait. There are no dragons left in Camelot or in any of the other four kingdoms. My father saw to that. We slayed the last dragon a few years ago. I must get back to Gwen. Perhaps we can reason with Leofwine.”

“Nobody reasons with Leofwine. He’s quite mad.”

“Then what do you suggest I should do, Dragonara? Let my wife face the full force of Leofwine’s army and do nothing?”

“No.” Dragonara turned away abruptly and took a long, hard look at Eliffer’s lifeless body. “You would never do that...you love your wife. Madmen are best caught by humouring them. Leofwine demands a dragon’s heart and he shall have one.” She glanced at Merlin, who shook his head in horror, but she ignored him, laying a hand on Arthur’s arm instead. “Before we return to Camelot, there is the matter of giving Lady Marigold and Eliffer a decent burial. May I borrow your servant, Arthur?”

Arthur consented and as a consequence Merlin found himself scrambling up the hill with Siward and Kai to fetch the cart and Urien’s horses. When they reached the peak of the hill they found Unding, who was still guarding the cart and wine barrels, as well as keeping a sorrowful eye on lady Marigold’s body; they told him what had happened and he made haste to unload the remainder of the barrels. They left the spoilt wine on the summit of the hill and used the cart to transport Marigold down to the meadow.

When Merlin got back, the scene that greeted him was quite changed, a camp of sorts had been erected, a fire burned and the knight’s horses had been lead to the brook to drink. It had taken Elyan quite some time to persuade the mounts past Bede’s body. The beasts smelled their fallen friend’s blood and were filled with terror. Arthur sat by Urien’s side, studying maps and discussing the best course of action. Dragonara and Eleanor sat silently a short way off, neither of them talking nor looking at the other woman.

Percival stood over Oswiu’s body and stared with unseeing eyes at the blade in the man’s forehead. He blinked, when Gawain joined him. “How could he...look at her...she’s just a child!”

Gawain pointed to the deep hollow in the soil next to the dead Bede. “It’s weird, don’t you think? All those cornflowers lined up...like a grave just waiting for its occupant.”

“I don’t think this one will find his eternal resting place in it, do you?” Percival pointed at the dead body by his feet. “The meadow is far too pleasant a place for a traitor of his ilk.”

Gawain lifted a finger into the breeze. “Hm, a gentle south-easterly, plenty of water nearby and a meadow full of juicy hay in autumn. Now that you mention it...the hole is exactly right for the piebald. Seems the good horse was Lady Eleanor’s childhood friend and a brave defender of her honour to the last. What do you say...shall we?”

Percival nodded his head wordlessly; they enlisted the help of Sir Elyan and Sir Leon to roll, drag and pull the Friesian piebald into the hole. When Bede was finally in his grave, Eleanor tore away from Dragonara’s side and hurried over to the circle of knights. Picking up a handful of grass, she sprinkled it into the open grave and whispered her goodbye before the knights covered the horse with earth and stones. She gazed at the circle of solemn faces, where dust, lack of sleep and worry of the last few days seemed to have aged the usually so cheerful men.

“Thank you for your kindness, my lords.”

Sir Leon spoke for all of them. “Please...you only have to say, if there’s anything else we can do.”

She inclined her head towards Oswiu’s corpse; Sir Leon nodded slowly. “Yes, of course, my lady. We will take care of...it.”

Throwing the cloak with the Segovia emblem over the dead man, Gawain and Percival didn’t take long to dispose of Leofwine’s most loyal squire. They dragged him into the wood, as far away from the meadow as possible and threw him into a pit, conveniently left by an uprooted oak.

“The foxes will get to him, if we don’t cover him with rocks,” Percival hurled a large specimen down into the pit, where it crushed Oswui’s skull. A second rock aimed at the head rolled across the corpse’s chest and came to a shuddering halt at Segovia’s crest, where it obliterated the crown an industrious seamstress from Dunadd had embroidered there.

“Who cares? Let them; a fitting end for him, don’t you think?” Gawain dusted off his hands and knees. He kicked some loose soil into the pit and turned to leave, but Percival stopped him. Together they hoisted the fallen oak trunk up into the air, rotated it 180 degrees, before dropping it on the pit, where it obscured all traces of the man beneath.

“Let him be compost for the new oak, Gawain. Perhaps in Deira he will finally do what he failed to do for his lord in Dunadd.”

“What, be a loyal supporter? Not this one, not in a lifetime!”

“Perhaps you’re right. He’ll make a fine set of roof beams for Wulfric’s great hall though!”

Upon their return, everyone gathered for a council of war. When Merlin re-entered their temporary camp after gathering more firewood as part of his chores, he came across Urien, whose trusted falcon perched on its master’s gloved hand and was about to set off into the night. Merlin watched as Urien lifted the tiny skull cap that had blinded the falcon and detached the leather strap that had fastened the bird’s leg and talon to the gloved hand. The bird’s bright eyes twinkled with pleasure and it spread its wings and took off into the sky with an eerie cry. It rose so fast into the deep blue that they had already lost sight of it, when the wind in its wings could still be heard. Moments later the falcon re-emerged briefly as a shadow against the backdrop of the first stars appearing the sky.

“Was that a message to Hueil...or to your father?”

Startled, Urien turned and found Merlin by his side, scrutinizing him. Urien shrugged his shoulders. “Neither. I have burned by bridges. Tell your master I’ve done all I could. Let us hope the rulers of Bres and Lot still hold Dragonara in the same regard as they did in her younger days, when she was more discerning in the male company she kept.”

Surprised at Urien’s harsh words, Merlin left and joined the others by the fire, where he accepted gratefully a morsel of bread from Siward’s saddle bag. He told Arthur of Urien’s message, when the sound of hooves caused him to turn around abruptly. Unding had saddled his horse and was leaving for Castle Deira.

“Where’s he going? It thought he wanted to be present at Lady Marigold’s funeral?” Merlin said when Gawain sauntered over to join him by the fire.

Taking the offered chunk of bread from Merlin, Gawain gazed after Unding’s galloping horse. “He will be...he’s just going back for something he forgot earlier.”

“Oh, what’s that? A favourite keepsake of Lady Marigold’s? Don’t tell me...it’s that indestructible cauldron!”

Gawain threw another log on the fire and smiled grimly. “His men! He’s fetching the castle guards and any other men he can find in the neighbourhood. _It’s about time my lord Wulfric learned to fend for himself_ , were Unding’s exact words.”

Sir Leon pursed his lips and whistled. “A castle revolt! I guess Master Wulfric’s got it coming to him.”

Percival joined them. “I’m not sure we can trust that young princeling. Urien claims he has sent word to the kingdoms of Bres and Lot, old King Bicoir’s realm.” Percival pulled a face as if his taste buds had been assaulted by one of Gaius’ bitter tinctures. “If you believe that...you’ll believe anything. Bres is Leofwine’s sworn enemy and has been so for many years.” He scratched his belly thoughtfully and lowered his huge body onto the blankets Siward had spread out for the knights earlier. “I know I shouldn’t speak ill of Arthur’s godmother...but if Urien’s servants are to be believed...the lady Dragonara has a long list of former lovers apparently still loyal to her. I’m surprised she found time to marry Leofwine, truth be told.”

“Let’s hope the lady parted from her lovers as good friends...or there’ll be two more armies marching on Camelot.” Gawain grinned from ear to ear. “Trust Arthur to have a godmother, who’s a determined flirt!” He pointed discretely with his thumb into Dragonara’s direction. She was sitting next to Arthur, their golden heads bowed over a map, their long limbs stretched out comfortably on a rug. Gawain’s hands outlined the curvature of a woman. “Not what you might call the standard specimen, is she? I bet if my godmother turned up after a twenty year absence, she’d look like an old warthog with the body of a bear.”

“Run in the family, your warthog features?” Percival said innocently. “If she does turn up unexpectedly, we’ll have no difficulty recognising her...now that we’ve seen you at your troll-ish best.”

“Very funny. Why don’t you and Arthur find us something to eat...oh no, I forgot, Arthur’s off his aim and you couldn’t bag a rabbit if you sat on it, Sir Percival of Clueless!”

It seemed the subject of rabbits was as unwelcome to Percival as it was to Arthur. Percival clouted Gawain’s back with such force he winded the much smaller man. Gawain fell backwards over a pile of logs. Despite his heavy heart, Merlin had to laugh at the knights’ horseplay and banter. He held out his hand and helped Gawain up.

Alerted by the commotion, Arthur looked up from his maps. “Merlin, remind me to issue a royal decreeupon our return to Camelot: anyone mentioning the subject of rabbits will spend twenty days in our dungeons!”

Merlin beamed at his king. “And anyone convicted of this terrible crime will escape down a rabbit hole on the very first day of their incarceration! Camelot’s dungeons are the worst in the five kingdoms!”

“Nonsense, we’ve doubled the guards on the stairs and in the corridors. Sir Leon assures me nobody passes through the gates unchallenged.”

“Arthur, a rabbit could outwit Sir Leon’s guards...not to mention break in through the old tunnels! We’ve done it often enough.” Merlin shot a nervous glance at Sir Leon, who had fortunately only caught the last part of his words, as he was too busy inspecting the saddle bags for food.

“The old tunnels, of course, well remembered, Merlin!” Leon unearthed a dried up rind of cheese, which he tossed to Merlin as a reward. “If we approach Camelot from Osthryth’s Fort instead of Lake Merthur we can enter the tunnels at their farthest end...you know...the old entrance at Rowan.”

Arthur frowned and threw another log on the fire. “Do you think the Rowan entrance is passable? It’s a long time since anyone has used that tunnel, it may have collapsed.”

“It’s worth a try and if that entrance is no longer open, we cut round to the entrance at Geoffrey’s Rest, that one’s definitely passable, my lord.”

Dragonara left Arthur’s side and selected a place next to Eleanor. The queen tried to lay her arm around her daughter, but Eleanor flinched from her touch and turned away. Dragonara sighed and turned to Sir Leon. “It sounds like an excellent plan. You could create a diversion.”

“Alright Leon, we’ll do as you suggest. Let’s all get some rest until Unding’s men get here.” Arthur yawned, stretched his tired limbs and curled up on his blanket. “Urien has asked Lot’s and Bres’ rulers for help. Whether they’ll respond remains to be seen. In the meantime, we’ll have to stall that madman Leofwine for as long as it takes. Dragonara, if you really know of a dragon’s heart...I hope it belongs to an old and feeble beastie that’s grateful to be slain. I don’t think I’ve got the energy for a fire-breather with an attitude.”

“You have my word it will jump on your blade as tamely as a toothless lapdog.” The queen suppressed a yawn, unfastened her cloak and rolled herself into it, settling down next to her daughter. Merlin’s heart began to race at her last words. He glanced in her direction but was unable to catch her eye. The camp fell silent as knights and servants also retired for the night, one by one finding their place by the fire. A single watchman in the form of Kai was patrolling the camp.

For several minutes Merlin watched a couple of fire flies dancing above their encampment. He followed their antics with his eyes, trying hard to recall all the events of the day without glossing over his own role in the outcome. Above him bats flew here and there, chasing after insects in the balmy night air. A gust of wind rushed through the branches of the surrounding trees, causing them to twist and turn, crack and splinter. He listened to the night music of owl, cricket, mouse and nightingale and wondered briefly, if he’d ever see his mother and his old village again.

When he had sorted the various things people had said and done in his head, Merlin crawled over to Arthur, who had shut his eyes tightly against the brightness of the flames. Merlin laid a hand on the king’s shoulder and shook him gently. “Arthur!”

The king grunted. “Go away!”

“Arthur, you cannot kill a dragon just to satisfy this madman. Who knows what he’ll do once he’s got the heart.”

“For all I care he can roast it and feed it to his dogs. He can fashion a winter coat out of it! Let me sleep, Merlin!” Arthur rolled over onto his other side, snuggled into his blankets and dozed off.

“Arthur!”

Merlin shook his lord awake for the second time. The king opened one eye. It glittered dangerously. “Unless you’ve come to tell me there’ll be eggs and freshly baked bread for breakfast, I’m not interested, Merlin.”

“Dragons are powerful beings with long memories.”

“So are kings deprived of their sleep!”

“I’m just saying...if there’s really a dragon and we fail to slay it...it won’t take kindly to having a lance stuck into its chest.”

Arthur’s other eye opened. It glittered even more dangerously than the first. “Do you doubt your king’s ability to slay another dragon?”

“Well, you did pass out the last time...and you’ve been off your aim ever since you married Gwen.” Merlin said hurriedly, retreating a safe distance of five paces before the long arm of Camelot’s law could grab him by the ear on the charge of treason. With a grunt Arthur sat up again and shot a malevolent glance at his servant.

“Care to explain that?”

Merlin hesitated. “Actually, I can’t. Gaius might know. I only know that every bit of wildlife we’ve encountered so far as walked, hopped and flown away without a scratch.”

Arthur let himself fall back into his blankets. “In that case, I’ll stick to fishing. Just ask the dragon to go for a swim and I’ll deal with it.” He snorted, curled up and this time even Merlin’s most determined efforts at shaking him awake were left unrewarded.

The truth began to dawn on the young sorcerer. Merlin slapped his own forehead with some force. “You being off your aim is exactly what we need!” He settled down next to his king and pulled a blanket over his tired limbs. “I have a horrible feeling Dragonara plans to serve Kilgharrah’s heart to her jilted madman on a plate...but why would she want to do such a terrible thing?” He closed his eyes and the image of his friend the Great Dragon rose up in his head.

Merlin sat up again and rubbed the sleep form his eyes. “Maybe they’re in it together...and all this godmother fleeing from cuckolded husband story is just a ruse...to get Arthur to slay a dragon for them...but why...what do they want with Kilgharrah’s heart?”


	16. 16

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> With troll captain Unding and the men from Wulfric's Castle Deira, Arthur hopes to be able to stop the war on Camelot. They make a brief camp at a fort, trying to get some rest before they go into battle. Merlin discovers that Dragonara is more than just an accomplished sorceress, she is in fact a dragon in disguise! Kilgharrah is her brother and she intends to sacrifice a dragon so that Leafwine won't destroy Camelot. Merlin also discovers that being a dragon lord doesn't hold much sway with the queen of the dragons. When he learns what Dragonara plans, he is angry. She shows him how all sorcerers are related and where they get their magick from - and how truly powerful a dragon queen's magick can be. Two characters are brought back to life, much to Merlin's delight. This chapter deals not just with what a true king - or queen - must be prepared to do to save their realm, it also deals with the extent of Merlin's powers...and their limits.

A meadow in Deira, Wulfric’s lands...

 

When Unding and his men returned a couple of hours later, Eleanor had just fallen into an uneasy sleep. With the help of Merlin’s cold compresses the swelling of her face was less pronounced now, but Merlin feared the wound left in her mind would take far longer to heal. Urien seemed to have undergone a change of personality; he had become a solicitous brother and seemed no longer the arrogant princeling they had known him to be. Dragonara was pacing the camp restlessly and kept looking up to the stars at regular intervals.

They had settled on a plan to take lady Marigold and Eliffer’s bodies to the old burial grounds near Osthryth’s Fort instead of the ones closer to Castle Deira. That way they could leave almost at once, as soon as the company was fully assembled. Wulfric had caused a certain amount of unpleasantness but in the end he’d had no choice, as both Yolanda and Ethelgunda had ridden out with Unding, now they were free to leave Castle Deira after the spell had been broken. They had left Wulfric in this ruined great hall, alone on his throne, without as much as a man servant to cook his breakfast. Merlin doubted the two women or any of the men would ever return to a lord who had so cruelly betrayed his daughters’ affection and who had ruined his men’s lives into the bargain. Twenty years was far more loyalty and service than any overlord could claim under the universal laws of knighthood that applied to the five kingdoms.

It was pitch-dark when they arrived at the burial grounds. In the distance they could hear an owl hoot with its mate calling out a reply at regular intervals. In an ancient sacred grove by the river the riders deposited the bodies of Marigold and Eliffer, using the cart as a funeral pyre. The stars lit up the sky just enough for Merlin to take in the beauty of the place, the gentle slope of the river banks, the swaying branches of the weeping willow trees against the backdrop of the shimmering river, the scent of wild flowers and the motionless silhouette of a night heron stalking his prey in the reed bed on the opposite bank of the river. Arthur cautioned the men to make haste, undoubtedly driven by his impatience to set off for Camelot, but Dragonara asked for his indulgence as she wanted to hold vigil for the dead for a while. Arthur reluctantly agreed, admitting that everyone needed more rest to face what might well be a day of battle upon the morrow. They were to leave an hour after midnight.

Merlin watched Dragonara closely, while everyone else went to sleep. She appeared restless, unable to sit or stand still. Believing herself unobserved, she finally turned and walked over to the cart; she lifted the boy gently from his pyre and onto her shoulder. With heavy steps she made her way down the slope and had almost reached the water’s edge, when Merlin caught up with her.

“You can’t possibly rip out Eliffer’s heart and give it to Leofwine! Think what a powerful weapon a dragon’s heart will be in the hands of a madman. I don’t quite understand how Eliffer could be a dragon in the first place or how you managed to transform him...if it was you who performed such magic...but I do know, Eleanor would never forgive you...nor do I believe you’d ever forgive yourself.”

“Go away; this does not concern you, dragon lord.”

Merlin gave an involuntary start. “How did you know – “

“I recognise you in the same way I know all my children.” A tear formed in the corner of Dragonara’s eye and rolled down her cheek, when she noticed the look of incomprehension on Merlin’s face. “By your gentle heart, you fool! You and every other child created by dragon magic has a gentle heart and a wise soul. Eliffer was my son; do you really think I’d give my baby’s heart to that monster?”

“But if you’re not going to sacrifice Eliffer...then what are you going to give to Leofwine?”

“What I promised Arthur! A dragon’s heart...one that is glad to be released from the burden of living.”

With Eliffer’s limbs dangling off her shoulder, she entered the river and didn’t stop ploughing through the waves until she was immersed up to her waist. She hoisted the boy carefully off her shoulder and let him slide into the water, where at first he sank but then re-emerged, his slender limbs gently bobbing on the waves.

Merlin stared after her, digesting the full meaning of her words. “It was you who told Leofwine about Kilgharrah in the first place! How else could he possibly know there’s still a living dragon in Camelot! I won’t allow it. If you want Kilgharrah’s heart, you’ve got to kill me first!”

Dragonara snorted. “Old scaly head? I doubt my brother is worth such a sacrifice!”

Merlin followed her to the very edge of the water but shrank back, when the water around Eliffer began to glow and churn. A light sprang up around Dragonara and enveloped her like a cloud that had come down from the very heavens. She seemed illuminated by an inner light that vied with the stars in its intensity. Dragonara dropped into the water next to the boy and allowed the waves to swallow her whole; for a moment she disappeared from Merlin’s view, only to rise from the water like a sea serpent, gigantic, with shimmering wings, their rainbow colours reminding Merlin of a dragonfly; a silver crest ran down the full length of her spine contrasting with the golden shine of her scales. There seemed no end to the expanse of gold that rose up before Merlin; sixty feet or more in height, she towered over him, dwarfing him, her head now turning to fix emerald eyes on his face, her nostrils flaring, bursts of fire and puffs of smoke sailing forth into the night.

“You are...the Great Dragon’s sister? How could you possibly expose him to Leofwine?”

From deep inside her, the dragon’s voice lulled Merlin into a trance...an alluring voice...bewitching...soothing...yet cutting him like a knife.

“Emrys, you are allowing your feelings for Kilgharrah to cloud your judgement. Albion and Arthur...that is the future. With Arthur the old religion will eventually triumph and magical beings will live side by side with children of men...in harmony as they once did...when I was young. Leofwine’s army is already at the citadel. Are you going to sacrifice all you hold dear for one decrepit old reptile?”

Merlin fought hard against the dragon’s beguiling voice. From deep within him he conjured up the dragon lord’s power to respond in the beast’s own language. “You shall not harm him! You will not betray your own kind! I forbid it!”

“How dare you abuse your power? A dragon lord who’s trying to command...ME? It was I who gave the children of men their magic and the gift to speak with dragons. A dragon queen’s magic is more powerful than anything else on earth –“

“I don’t care how powerful you think you are. YOU ARE NOT GOING TO HARM KILGHARRAH!” Merlin raised his arm and shook his fist at her. “I forbid it.”

Her snake-like head plunged down and he felt her searing breath before the burst of flames had even left her throat. With his hands held high above his head he warded off the flames and stood his ground, sending the inferno right back to her with a force she had clearly not expected. She hissed as the flames engulfed her and her swishing tail churned up the water until it seemed to boil. When the last flame had evaporated he looked up defiantly, lowering his hands slowly, unsure if he could withstand another outburst like the first; above him Dragonara seemed just as reluctant to engage in a second round of magical contest; she withdrew her fire-breathing nostrils to a safe distance and stared just as defiantly back at the young sorcerer.

“You must find another way, Dragonara. No dragon hearts...nor any other bits of their anatomy. Couldn’t you just go to Leofwine and say...that you’re sorry? You married him...and you betrayed him. Frankly, he does have every reason to be angry with you. He is old and alone...perhaps all this is just his way to show you he still cares.”

To his surprise his words did not provoke another jet of flames but prompted a complete change in her. Looking less like a serpent and more like her old self, Dragonara bent her long neck and lowered her face close to his. Her emerald eyes sparkled and the golden scales on her nose twinkled as she looked deep into his eyes. Merlin was overcome with the desire to touch her, but when he lifted his hand to reach out, she emitted a growl, a sound not unlike an eruption by an otherwise friendly volcano. Merlin realised with a pang that the dragon was laughing at him.

“Spoken like a man, Emrys! Leofwine cares very much to get me back...but not for the reasons your young, romantic heart takes for granted. My Lord never loved me...he simply wanted to produce an heir born of woman...because the son he obtained by magic did not please him. He chose me as his breeding mare...not as his beloved wife and queen. Why should I care about his finer feelings? It’s his pride that is hurt, nothing more! Would you respect Arthur as your lord, if he had treated Gwen like Leofwine dealt with me?”

“No...but I still think you must do right by him, my lady. From what I hear he is fond of Eleanor...forgive me but you don’t seem to care too much for her and she not for you either. Can’t she go back and be at Leofwine’s side? She might have a softening influence over him...and if not, Urien is ready to be her protector.”

The dragon queen inclined her head to one side and eyed him keenly. A smile spread over her scaly face, exposing her long fangs. “You are as wise as you are brave...now I know my children’s future will be safe with you. One day you will have need of dragons to save Albion and Arthur’s reign, but without Eliffer there won’t be a new generation. I’m old...so very old...and Eleanor is not mature enough to carry my burden.”

Merlin’s eyes widened. “Eleanor is a dragon, too?”

Dragonara shook her head sadly. “No...she’s been such a disappointment...she turned out human; Eliffer her half-brother must carry on my ancient bloodline. When the time comes, you must introduce him to Aithusa.”

Merlin gazed up at her golden features, unable to take it all in. “Aithusa is a girl?” He finally asked breathlessly. “But the egg I rescued was blue!”

Dragonara frowned. “Really, Kilgharrah could have told you at least the basics!” When she saw the expression on Merlin’s face, she relented. “Dragon females can be whatever they choose.” She chuckled and with every intake of breath the soil under Merlin’s feet trembled. “We’re not that different from human women! We like to wear more colourful plumage than the male.”

A smile stole across Merlin’s face and she lowered her head, her long lashes briefly brushing his cheek. He raised his hand and ran his fingers slowly over her crest. “I fear on the subject of women I still have a lot to learn.”

“A little less time spent running after Arthur’s every whim would take care of that, my son!” The dragon’s huge eye winked at him. “Pity, I had rather hoped you’d be a mentor for Eliffer when his time comes to woo his girl. Just as well I have the gift of seeing the future! Aithusa’s first egg will be a new dragon queen. You must take care of her...and see to it that a new generation of dragon lords is born!”

“How do I do that?”

“Really Merlin, it doesn’t take the powers of a warlock to figure that one out! Have you never kissed a serving girl under the mistletoe?”

“Oh...I see what you mean.” Merlin dropped his hand abruptly. “I hate to point out the obvious flaw in your little reptile romance...but Eliffer’s gone...how could he possibly carry on your bloodline?”

Dragonara snorted and a puff of smoke escaped her lips. “You really are the most ignorant dragon lord I’ve seen in over a thousand years. Ingwaz the Fat knew more about dragons than you do...and THAT’s saying something! Come to think of it...he knew more about girls, too.”

“I may be ignorant on the subject of girls and dragons...but a dead Eliffer’s not going to be the father of your grandchild, I know that much!”

Dragonara chuckled. “Then my little party trick will come as a bit of a surprise to you, won’t it, young warlock?”

She lowered her head and breathed gently over the surface of the water, where Eliffer’s body floated on the waves. A golden cloud enveloped the boy and for a moment Merlin thought he saw Eliffer’s eyelids flutter and his lips tremble. Dragonara lifted her head again and inhaled deeply, before exhaling another cloud of shimmering dust that spread over the river, the soil and the dry vegetation that lay flat and exhausted from the day’s heat against the embankment. The grasses turned succulent once more, their stems rising up in a welcome to the moon.

“Dragon queens have the power to restore life and return the dead to the living. Why else do you think Leofwine asked for a heart? He doesn’t want any old dragon’s heart...he wants MY HEART, Merlin! To cut it out and use it to bring back his first wife...with a dragon’s heart Leofwine can bring back all his fallen warriors, raising a gigantic army to wipe out his neighbour’s kingdoms. He can restore his lands to their former glory...what better revenge could he exact against his unfaithful wife...the one who cuckolded him with a lowly court physician? He knows I shan’t let any other dragon suffer for my mistakes.”

“But how did he find out...about you being a dragon queen...your disguise as a human was so perfect?”

The dragon closed her eyes. “Urien...a jealous boy who followed my every move from the moment little Eleanor and I set foot in Segovia. Only once in all those long, lonely years I dared to show my real self to someone I trusted...my beloved Nechtan. Urien must have spied on us...and told his father everything he saw that day. I have no ill will towards the boy, he craves his father’s approval too much and that lead to his error of judgement.”

Merlin whistled. “And now that Eleanor is...hurt...he feels guilty and wants to make up for his betrayal.” Dragonara opened her eyes again and nodded sadly.

Merlin had a thousand questions but they had to wait, for at that moment Eliffer’s arms and legs stopped bobbing along with the waves and began to move on their own accord. Merlin held his breath as the boy opened first one and then another eye. Eliffer’s pale lips gasped for air and within moments he had been revived, standing before Merlin as if nothing had happened. The terrible wound on his chest had closed and the waves had washed the blood from his shirt. The boy stood in the middle of the river, Dragonara’s golden body rising up behind him like the sun at dawn, and he smiled; the water dripped from his face and hair, while he tried to take his first bewildered steps towards the slope of the river bank, where Merlin stood with swimming eyes.

“The boy lives! This is the greatest magic I’ve ever –“

“Merlin, bring me the lady Marigold! Quickly now, Eliffer can help you.” Dragonara’s serpent head shot down so close, the breath from her nostrils threatened to sear off Merlin’s black fringe. Merlin recoiled and hurried to fulfil her wishes, with Eliffer at his heels.

Together they managed to heave Lady Marigold from the cart and dragging her more than carrying her, they finally got her into the water without waking the others in the camp. Dragonara’s voice sank to a gentle whisper, as she bent her head over the floating body and performed another miracle.

Just as Eliffer had done before her, Marigold opened her eyes and blinked at the stars above her with mild astonishment. She followed Eliffer onto the river bank and waited without a word. Dragonara’s serpent body began to shrink, her enormous neck got shorter, her swishing tail ceased wrapping itself around the weeping willow at the edge of the water and the river stopped churning. Within moments, Dragonara was once again what by any one’s standards was not just a very beautiful woman but a rather unusual godmother.

“Earlier...you called me your child...what did you mean by that?” Merlin ventured to say when Dragonara ploughed through the water towards him. “I do have a mother and father...I mean...he’s no longer with us...but I’m human, definitely. I think I’d have noticed if I’d sprouted some scales...although the other day there was that patch of dried skin on my belly that Gaius couldn’t explain -”

“Were you not born with magic, Merlin? Who do you think gave you that precious gift?” She interrupted him impatiently. She had reached the water’s edge and held out her hand to him. “Stop rambling, boy, and help me out of the water.” Dragonara’s exhausted faced frowned at him.

Astonished, he took the offered hand, while trying to digest the fact that she was completely naked. He helped her back on dry land, where she shook herself dry like a dog, a golden glow briefly lighting up her eyes. Instantly, droplets of water rolled off her shimmering body and richly embroidered clothing arranged itself neatly over her curves; her blonde tresses were no longer wet or tangled, but piled up in neat ringlets which now framed her pale face. The glow that had permeated her body gradually disappeared. Merlin couldn’t keep his eyes off her. She raised a quizzical eyebrow and directed her gaze downwards, coughing discretely at the same time. Merlin felt the blood rise to his cheeks, when he realised he was still holding her hand. He immediately released it and Dragonara strode past him and up the river bank to return to the sacred grove.

Merlin busied himself ushering Eliffer and Marigold up the embankment, where Dragonara waited for them beneath the weeping willows.

“The m-m-magic we’re b-b-born with comes from...d-d-dragons?” Merlin finally managed to say, inwardly cursing his burning cheeks, which he blamed entirely on the discovery of Aithusa’s secret and his lack of sleep. “But how...am I a part of you?”

Dragonara ignored his question. “Go and fetch Unding. Eliffer and Marigold have to return to Castle Deira. Never mind Wulfric, he won’t be a problem for much longer. NOW, if you don’t mind, Merlin,” she added, when the young sorcerer planted his feet firmly into the soft soil and crossed his arms in defiance. Dragonara smiled sweetly. “I could always tell Arthur there’s a servant with magic lurking under his roof?”

“I never lurk!” Merlin uncrossed his arms but remained rooted to the spot. “And I’m Arthur’s servant, not yours! Why can’t you get Unding while I take the weight of my feet for a bit?”

By way of a reply she laid her hands on his shoulders and turned him gently, but firmly towards the camp, finally giving him a slap on his rump. “Whatever you do, just do it somewhere else, my little dragon lord. I must talk with Eliffer and Marigold alone.”

A sleepy and at first rather grumpy Unding followed Merlin to the water’s edge, where Marigold threw her arms around him and wept. Bewildered, frightened and finally mollified by her kisses, he agreed to take her and the boy back to Castle Deira.

“Unding, you have nothing to fear. Please look after Eliffer, for his life is precious...as dear to me as Marigold is to you. My great healing powers have restored her to you; now show your gratitude by looking after this boy for me. When all is over, you will rule over Deira and its lands together, as Lady Marigold and Lord Unding. In time, Eliffer will grow up to be a fine man...perhaps a court physician?” She smiled sadly at her son, cupping his face in her hands. “These are good people, Eliffer, and you must obey them. When Eleanor and Urien sit on the throne of Dunadd, it will be time for you to return, but not before.” She embraced first the boy, then Marigold, who couldn’t stop sobbing. “Now GO!”

Unding laid his arm around the boy and frowned. “What about Gawain? He’ll think I abandoned him.”

“Not if you leave him your men to help Arthur. They’ll return to you, never fear.” Dragonara ushered them up the slope. “Go, there’s not much time.”

Merlin and Dragonara watched the three fugitives as they lead their horses quietly out of the camp. By sunrise they would be back at Castle Deira.

Merlin yawned and stretched his tired limbs. “Poor old Unding. He started his day as a troll, then lost the love of his life, now found her again only to face Wulfric’s wrath upon his return. This has been the longest day ever!”

“Never fret about old Wulfric, he’s dead.”

Merlin stared. “Dead? How...when?”

“Died by his own hand shortly after Unding and his men left.”

“How do you know? Female dragon intuition or magic?”

“Neither. Just knowledge of those who believe they are rulers of men. A despot without a people to terrorise...he won’t live down the shame of their desertion. By now he’ll have taken the easy way out, trust me.”

Merlin shrugged his shoulders and turned wearily to the dragon queen. “If Gwen can’t give him a dragon heart Leofwine will attack the citadel before we get there on horseback. You’re a dragon, you could fly there and with Kilgharrah’s help –“

“No, I couldn’t possibly.”

“You must. Gwen is all alone at Camelot! It would break Arthur’s heart, if anything happened to her.”

“Merlin, I cannot do as you ask.”

“Aren’t you forgetting something?” Merlin pulled himself up to his full height. “You made me a dragon lord! I command you to fly to Gwen’s aid...at once. You won’t have to sacrifice yourself. I won’t allow it! I’ll come with you. With two dragons and one sorcerer Leofwine won’t stand a chance –“

He began to summon his dragon lord power and reached out to her, ready to cling to her neck with both hands, should she transform once more, but Dragonara simply lifted her arms and started flapping them as if to take off into the heavens.

“I’m your master! Obey!” Merlin fumed. Dragonara lifted one leg and increased the flapping. Merlin let go off her neck. “Are you making fun of me again?”

“No, Merlin. Restoring life to two people...even miracle makers must rest once in a while. Until then, I shan’t be doing any flying. I’m fresh out of magic.”

Merlin was about to remonstrate with her but she threw an arm around his shoulders and drew him close. “Speaking of miracles, my son...you couldn’t conjure us a cauldron full of rabbit stew for breakfast by any chance? Arthur tells me you’re a very capable cook. At any rate, it can’t be worse than Arthur’s first attempt! I can still feel the bits of fur between my teeth!”

Merlin turned to her with swimming eyes. “Are you asking me to cook the condemned dragon a last meal?”

“No, I’m asking you to feed a famished friend so she can gather strength for the coming battle!”

Merlin beamed and raised his hand to summon his powers. “My best rabbit stew with dumplings coming up!”


	17. 17

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Queen Gwen has passed her first test as ruler of Camelot with flying colours - and promptly erases all traces of what she had planned to do and the council members' resolution signed by all. Arthur must never find out that Gwen was prepared to sacrifice herself for he would have regarded it as his personal failure for all time. Camelot is besieged, bombarded, the battle has started in earnest. Gwen and Prince Urien's trusted messenger Hueil start plotting their own counter attack, for Gwen has had an idea how to win time until Arthur and Prince Urien's own men arrive to beat down Leofwine's troops. Finally taking charge properly as a protector of Camelot, Gwen rallies all her friends around her. If you can't produce a real dragon, then you just have to make one up! It's a plan worthy of Gaius himself...but where is the old physician? Gwen and her followers hurry to Gaius' chambers, when an enormous explosion rocks Camelot. Gaius' chamber must have suffered a direct hit.

In the council chamber at Camelot...

 

Gwen watched as the flames devoured the last of the names on the writhing scroll. Eight brave men who had done what they thought was best. Eight fearless knights, old perhaps, but nonetheless determined to stand up against Leofwine’s tyranny. For their king. For Camelot. Yet, knowing Arthur as well as she did, she feared he might not look kindly at their eagerness to hand over what the king regarded as his most precious treasure, the queen’s heart, his to keep for all eternity.

She held up her hands to the fire; no longer trembling now, she watched the hearth’s glow streaming through her outspread fingers, the light reflecting off the golden wedding ring on her finger, an illuminated brush painting a tiny circle on the queen’s breast. In the centre of the circle, a fine silvery thread had come loose from the embroidery on her blouse; the silky strand danced in the warm air that engulfed her by the hearth. Geoffrey’s dagger had cut the cross stitching and a minute spec of red had formed in the centre of the circle. Gwen’s eyes began to swim, when she imagined Arthur’s pain upon finding his queen dead and Camelot lost to tyranny once more.

Turning abruptly, she blinked the watery traitors away and eyed Hueil’s tired face keenly. “And Prince Urien knows this to be true? Arthur is really on his way with an army? But how...and whose army agreed to come to our aid?” Gwen raised an eyebrow, when concern spread across Hueil’s face. “Who told you this? Are they to be trusted?”

“My lady, the falcon arrived with just this brief message.” He sighed and scratched his stubbly chin. “Forgive my misgivings, my lady. If my lord Urien has joined forces with the King of Camelot and the army turns out to be Segovia’s own rear guard...you’ll understand, civil war in my country is not quite the home coming I was looking forward to.”

Gwen stared at Urien’s liege man. “Segovia’s rear guard?”

Before Hueil could answer, a direct hit on Camelot’s west wing reverberated through the massive walls. Tremors emanated from the very foundations and echoed upwards through the curtain walls and the citadel’s eight towers. Gwen closed her eyes in horror. The shockwave would have thrown the men on the battlements off their feet and the archers would have loosened their volley of arrows far too early to be of use against the enemy. Gwen opened her eyes and inhaled sharply, when the sounds from the battleground reached the castle’s inmates. The archers had truly missed their targets - Leofwine’s men were cheering and shouting their taunts louder than ever. A brightly lit torrent of arrows swished past the open council chamber window with a squeal. Gwen straightened, threw back her shoulders and walked stiffly over to the window, shutting it with a determined bang.

She turned and frowned at her unexpected visitor. “You were going to tell me about Segovia’s rear guard?”

A rather pale Hueil was still holding on to the table by his side. “Uh, sorry, I’m feeling a little faint.” Hueil pointed wearily to a chair. “May I sit?”

“Of course, I beg your pardon.” Gwen darted forward and filled a goblet with wine, as Hueil sank onto one of the carved council chamber chairs. He took the goblet from Gwen’s hand and drank deeply, but all the while his eyes scrutinised her. Gwen considered his position. He was clearly fiercely loyal to his prince but also reluctant to show disloyalty to his king. While that did him credit and showed him to be a man of integrity, it did nothing to enlighten her as to Arthur’s newly acquired army and current whereabouts. She smiled wanly. “Leofwine’s bombardment has gone on for so long, I have become accustomed to the ground shaking under our feet.”

“You’re very brave, my lady.”

Gwen shrugged her shoulders. “Not I! I keep pretending we’re out at sea.”

She sat down opposite Hueil and pushed a decanter with ruby wine and a platter with bread and ham across to him. “Here, you must be famished.”

“Thank you, my lady, I don’t mind if I do.” Gwen watched as Hueil tore a chunk out of the bread, his hands grimy and covered in fresh scars. Hueil’s blood spattered hand reached for the platter and a large slice of ham disappeared without trace within moments, followed by an enormous bite out of the bread.

Noting the puzzled look on her face, Hueil hurriedly swallowed his meal. “Prince Urien’s falcon has his favourites. Sadly, I’m not one of them.” A grin spread slowly across Hueil’s face, now that his cheeks were no longer bulging. “I hear fashionable ladies-in-waiting wear riding caps adorned with feathers this year. What say you, your Majesty, would such a gift cheer your own heart?”

Gwen smiled. “Fashion has been known to aid peace occasionally.” She fingered the fine cross stitching on his dusty cloak. “Once Urien’s favourite messenger has lost the strength in his wings, I have no doubt the seamstress responsible for this garment will receive her just deserts.” Gwen raised an eyebrow confidentially.

Taking another deep draught from his goblet, Hueil considered Gwen for a moment; then he relented with a sigh. Leaning across the table he came closer, still preserving a polite distance between them not to offend Her Majesty’s dignity.

“Her name’s Mariette. She’s the niece of Princess Eleanor’s lady-in-waiting. I want to ask for her hand...but she’s still undecided. My loyalty to Prince Urien has been a bit of a stumbling block,” Hueil confessed with a sigh. “And she resents the time I spend in his aviary.”

Gwen eagerly pushed her emotional advantage. “It’s hard being so far from the one you love. I wished there was a way to end this idiotic siege, so we could all sleep easy in our beds again.” Realising what she’d said, she blushed very prettily. “Erm...I wasn’t implying you and Mariette –“

Hueil guffawed, waving his chunk of bread with the air of a man who discusses his love life with royal heads every day of the week. He leant a little closer across the table, a corner of his neckerchief dipping into his goblet. “Between us and these four walls...Mariette’s as pure as the driven snow...more’s the pity.”

“The gift of a pretty falcon feathered cap might lighten her mood and prompt her to bestow her favours more generously?” Gwen fished his neckerchief out of the goblet and wrung out one corner, dark red droplets spattering across the stretch of table between them.

“Ah, but my lord Urien loves that darn beast to distraction – “

“And he shall go on loving it, my friend! If I’m not mistaken, one of our huntsmen reported one of Camelot’s falcons expired a few days ago. I wonder if a tail feather or wing might not be procured? Call it a gesture of good faith, Master Hueil.” Gwen beamed, her brown eyes twinkling in the candle light. “I have good faith in the power of love and that people usually do what that’s right in the end, don’t you?”

Hueil sat up straight and blinked. “Of course!” He took another swig of wine and cleared his voice: “Your Majesty didn’t hear this from me...but Leofwine always leaves a quarter of his men behind until the siege is well under way. When the die is cast in his favour, Leofwine brings out his rear guard for the kill. He received word there are tunnels leading right into Camelot. He will count on the element of surprise.”

Her guise as temptress forgotten, Gwen’s small fist pounded the table with force. “Then he has miscounted his fortunes!” She jumped up and started pacing the chamber. “I will send a scouting party through the tunnels and if the rear guard is indeed headed that way, we shall know how to act...and if by fortuitous chance –“

“The rear guard turns out to have joined Arthur and his men,” Hueil continued her sentence, “your scouts can lead Camelot’s king and his men right into Leofwine’s vulnerable flank, where they’ll be able to cause painful mischief. Leofwine won’t know the men appearing on the hill behind Arthur are really Segovia’s own warriors...well, not until they are within a sword’s range and he’s staring up the nostrils of his own knights.”

“Exactly!” The queen paused in her perambulations around the council chamber table. Her eyes happened on Aurelius Smarticus’ book. Gwen tapped the book with her ring-finger and laughed out loud. “Aurelius Smarticus, you are rapidly becoming my favourite writer! I say, Hueil, you’ve given me an idea. Subterfuge and a trick of the eye...the old tunnels...I wonder...it might just work! Follow me!” Gwen turned on her heel and pushed through the halberds her guards had crossed to cover the council chamber doors. One of the startled guards accidentally hit the wall and the halberd’s blade screeched across the brick work, but nothing would deter Gwen from her task. She tore open the doors and hitched up her long skirts. Pausing only long enough for Hueil to grab his gauntlets and helmet, she pounded down the corridor.

Troubled, Hueil called after her. “My lady, where are going? You’re not thinking of entering the tunnels by yourself?”

Guinevere didn’t stop. She turned left into the next corridor and hurried down a stair case, taking two steps at a time. On the landing, she half turned and cried over her shoulder. “Come quickly, Hueil, we haven’t a moment to lose! Leofwine wants a dragon’s life...he shall have a dragon’s last breath and be welcome to it! I’ll promise him a last gasp he won’t forget in a hurry!”

Bewildered, Hueil followed the queen as instructed, wonder written all over his face. How anyone could run so fast in such dainty shoes? He made a mental note to find out Mariette’s running speed before they were betrothed. Who’d want a husband unable to keep up with his wife?

He chased after the queen, down the stairs and onto the next level, where Gwen hurtled through a long, covered walkway with handsome, carved columns on either side, before diving into a corridor that lead to the royal couple’s domestic quarters and guests’ chambers; issuing forth orders along the way to any servants they met on the way, Gwen sailed on without waiting for Hueil. The commotion of running feet brought Gwen’s maid out into the corridor. She was carrying a couple of woollen blankets, no doubt intended for Gaius’ use.

“Thank goodness, there you are, Emma! Blankets...good thinking, bring them, oh, and this can go, too!” Gwen tore down a moth-eaten wall hanging and thrust the embroidered adventures of Uther the Magnificent into Emma’s overloaded arms. “I’ve always hated the thing. Arthur’s cranky old nurse presented it on our wedding day.” Gwen pulled a face. “As if I needed a permanent reminder of Nurse Ida’s deeds! We know only too well, who spoiled Arthur during his most formative years.”

Emma giggled and followed her queen into the royal bed chamber. “None better than poor Merlin, my lady. T’ way his Majesty bellows for his bath in the mornin’...cook can hear him in t’ kitchens - ”

No longer listening, Gwen was busy assessing the contents of her husband’s wardrobe and flung out two soiled shirts and one rather worn-out hose. Emerging slightly red faced, she said: “Take these wretched things, so Merlin won’t have to mend them again and, Emma, fetch me any spare sheets, chairs, wicker baskets and straw-filled mattresses you can find. Tell the men to bring them to the entrance of the great cave below the dungeons. Hurry! I’ll see to Gaius, never fret.”

Leaving an utterly stunned Emma in her wake, Gwen rushed down the corridor and practically flew past the statue of the griffon that guarded the staircase to the throne room. Hueil had trouble keeping up with the queen. Gwen entered the vast chamber and made a quick survey of the inventory. She cornered one of the knights who had been guarding the throne.

“See to it that all unused benches, trestle tables and chairs are brought to the entrance of the cave that lies below Camelot. Get the huntsmen and their beaters down there, too. Tell them to bring their drums and whistles. Where’ll I find Geoffrey of Monmouth and Sir Edward de Mangetout?”

The knight directed her to a small look-out tower from where Edward and Geoffrey surveyed the fiery siege engulfing the citadel’s western tower and curtain walls. The noise of the attackers’ rocks hitting the castle walls and the citadel’s own catapults’ returning fire was enough to render the small party deaf. They retreated to the relative safety of the battlements surrounding one of the main towers in the east. Below them, within the walled fortifications that surrounded the inner village, fires had sprung up here and there.

The sound of collapsing roofs and falling masonry was not enough to drown the screams from those trapped inside their burning homes. Smoke filled the air; the stench of burning flesh rose up from the courtyard and the village. Men and beast tried to flee a fiery end but wherever they ran Leofwine’s warriors and death were waiting for them. Beyond the outer curtain walls the settlement was already lost. A line of fire marked the spot were once a fine row of merchant houses had graced the village. Gwen shuddered, but was determined not to lose her courage in the light of such wanton destruction.

“Geoffrey, will you sit with Gaius, Hueil and me for a moment to hold a council of war? Sir Edward, I need you to come, too.” The old librarian and Arthur’s advisor followed their queen and Hueil without a murmur of dissent, although the Segovia emblem on Hueil’s cloak clearly tested their resolve not to burden their queen with unnecessary questions.

They arrived outside Gaius’ chamber just as another missile struck the citadel. The impact shook the castle’s foundations so hard that Gwen and Geoffrey were forced to cling to the door frame or be thrown off their feet. The force of the strike flung Sir Edward and Hueil against the opposite wall, where wall hangings and decorative shields plummeted down adding to the general uproar and clamour; a large crack appeared in the plasterwork with an eerie screech that caused Geoffrey to nearly jump out of his skin. A rumble as loud as an angry dragon’s roar followed the direct hit. Hueil scrambled up, rubbing his shoulder and Sir Edward hoisted up his heavy belt and sword, his face ashen and his hair sticking up in dusty tufts.

He turned towards his queen. “My lady, whatever you have in mind...may I respectfully request we make this the shortest council meeting on record?”

Gwen nodded wordlessly and turned towards Gaius’ door. She willed herself not to think about the men outside. When the roar of the citadel’s crumbling walls ebbed away, the corridors were filled with the screams of falling men whose task it had been to fire arrows from the battlements but who were now tumbling into the flames below, where they were swallowed hole. The warriors’ death cries mingled with the boom of falling masonry and the hissing of pitch-filled pigs’ bladders originally destined for the enemy’s camp but now dropping into the courtyard below and engulfing the citadel’s own men in an inferno.

Gwen’s hands flew to her mouth and her eyes filled with tears; she stifled a cry and the urge to run away, leaning for the fraction of a moment against Geoffrey’s reassuring bulk. This brief contact with human warmth was enough to rekindle her courage. With a visible effort, she steadied her trembling hands and reached for the door knob. She opened the door but shut it instantly with a yelp. The sharp tongue of a flame had nipped her hand and was now snaking through the keyhole, mocking them.

“Gaius is in there! Please help him!” Gwen’s tear-stained, upturned face entreated the travel-worn warriors at her side. Hueil pushed her gently aside and Sir Edward cautiously opened the door afresh. A flash of heat and flames shot past them and hit the wall opposite, leaving a blackened circle where once Merlin’s favourite painting had graced the walls. Smoke billowed out of the room, followed by several small explosions. Hueil and Sir Edward shook hands briefly; then they darted through the open door into the blistering heat and smoke clouds that greeted them. Gwen’s strength gave way and she cried out after her friends.

Apart from the hissing fire raging inside Gaius’ chambers, the silence that greeted Gwen and Geoffrey out in the corridor was positively deafening.

“Sir Edward...Hueil...where are you?” Gwen ventured forward and peered into the billowing smoke, holding her arm across her nose. ”Gaius...are you there?”

An ear shattering explosion threw Gwen off her feet and sent Geoffrey’s rotund figure flying through the air.


	18. 18

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Gwen and her helpers free Gaius from the debris of his chambers. They decide to give evil sorcerer-King Leofwine a dose of his own medicine and with some of Gaius more explosive "ingredients" they head for the dungeons, where a "Camelot defender workforce" is busy building a fake dragon from anything they can lay their hands on. Gaius meanwhile tries hard not to give away that Merlin is a dragon lord. Reading Aurelius Smarticus' book on dragons Gaius has finally understood what dastardly plans Leofwine has been cooking up - plans that will kill everyone at Camelot once the evil sorcerer has the dragon's heart in his possession. Will Gwen and her helpers have enough time to put their own plans into action before the their enemy's army attacks?

Outside Gaius’ chambers in burning Camelot...

 

Geoffrey of Monmouth crawled on all fours through the dust and debris to reach his queen, who was clutching her aching head, her ears still ringing from the explosion. Tears streamed down her dusty face, as she scrambled up. She stared at the smoke billowing through the open door. “Gaius, my old friend...Sir Edward and brave Hueil gone, too. Now all’s lost!”

Geoffrey held out a hand to his queen, raising her to her feet. “Don’t upset yourself, my lady, Gaius wouldn’t want that...he lived a long and fairly content life; I’m sure his last years were made all the happier for sharing them with young Merlin and finally seeing Arthur succeed to the throne. He was so proud of –“

“I wished you wouldn’t talk about me as if I were already in my grave, Geoffrey,” Gaius spluttered as he emerged from the smoke, Hueil’s steadying hand beneath his elbow. “I assure you there’s plenty of fight left in this particular court physician.”

Never one for court etiquette, Gwen threw her arms around Gaius and hugged him tight, before bestowing a grateful kiss on the noses of Hueil and Sir Edward, who came staggering through the door after his friends, both hands still firmly clapped over his ears.

“My dear old friend!” Geoffrey of Monmouth grabbed Gaius’ hands and shook them enthusiastically. “I thought you were dead!”

The old court physician raised an eyebrow and peered at the wall opposite his door. “I certainly shall be when Merlin discovers his favourite painting’s gone. Why that boy should be so attached to the subject of mountain lakes is beyond me. I find him staring at that picture of Lake Avalon quite often.” Gaius shook his head, dislodging a squashed leach from his long, grey hair. It landed at his feet, where it squirmed in the dust until Gaius took his revenge and kicked it back into the burning chamber.

“Perhaps it reminded Merlin of Ealdor, his mother’s village?” Gwen squinted at the burned remains on the wall.

“You’d think tavern signs would be more to his liking or pictures of nubile young maidens.” Gaius felt the heat rise to his cheeks when Gwen snorted, the only possible response to such an outrageous notion. Gaius clearly felt it politic to correct the impression he had just created for he hurried to add: “Purely in the interest of healing, you understand, Your Majesty. I am training him to be a good physician and knowledge of female anatomy is important, is it not?”

Hueil laughed out loud and clapped him on the back. “It certainly is in my experience, dear man!”

Blushing, Gaius sidled past his queen and scurried down the corridor as fast as his shaky legs would carry him. “You have no idea what ailments young maidens can report in the space of a day...and don’t even get me started on those drinkers in _The Rising Sun_ tavern...and then there’s the bewildering subject of babies and childbirth! Erm...we’ll be safer down below, let’s head for the dungeons, my lady,” he cried over his shoulder, the queen following him with an amused expression on her face.

“Yes, let’s Gaius, and while we’re walking I shall enlighten you on the subject of dragons...babies and childbirth included.”

Gaius stopped in his tracks and turned on his heel. “Erm...what, my lady? What dragons would that be?”

“The one you and I shall conjure up, old friend.” Gwen beamed. She half-turned towards the smoking chamber behind her. “Do you think any of your...erm...more disagreeable supplies might still be intact?”

Gaius raised an eyebrow. “Now what are you up to, my girl?”

The queen had caught up with Gaius, who was still unsteady on his feet after his brush with poisonous death and greedy leaches. “One or two of your more temperamental ingredients might come in useful, don’t you think?”

She hooked her arm through his with a grip far stronger than the old physician had expected from such a petite lady and more or less dragged him back to his smouldering chambers, where she picked up an iron cauldron and shoved it rather unceremoniously into Hueil’s arms. “Hold this, will you, while Gaius prepares some Camelot magic that will make Leofwine’s ears ring for a long, long while.”

Most of the physician’s supplies had been incinerated but the odd _temperamental_ ingredient still snoozed safely in its earthen-wear pot or leather pouch. He collected what was usable and could easily be found in the smoke-filled chamber, flung the stuff into the cauldron, only half understanding what his queen had in mind. When nothing more useful could be gathered, they hurried back into the corridor and down towards the main stair case to the dungeons, until Gwen stopped abruptly at a particularly gruesome tapestry that depicted one of King Uther’s raids on the local druid population. Gwen wrinkled her nose in distaste, instantly letting go off Gaius’ arm. She picked up a corner of the tapestry with both hands and tore down Uther’s shameful reminder. When the dust cloud had subsided a secret door was revealed.

The queen turned to one of the wall sconces in the corridor and lifted a torch out of its wrought iron bracket. “Arthur once showed me this route. It’s much quicker and takes us straight to the entrance of the great cave, the dragon’s lair.”

“My lady, I don’t understand...you’d dare practicing sorcery...right here at Camelot under Arthur’s nose?” Gaius squeaked, mindful of the torch, it being within dangerous proximity of his long grey hair.

“Arthur’s nose is leagues away, probably stuck knee-deep in whatever mess his royal pig-headedness has landed him in. Besides, I have a feeling he won’t object to the type of sorcery we’ll be employing here today!”

The trained physician in Gaius shook his head at the thought of noses with knees, while Geoffrey, his fingers still trying to unclog plaster dust from his ears, finally caught up with them. “Is this wise, my lady? Shouldn’t we wait for King Arthur’s return?”

The queen flung Uther’s tapestry over Geoffrey’s head, pulled open the secret door and pointed resolutely down a stair case, before plunging into the silent darkness that lay beyond the door. “Gentlemen, you swore allegiance to Camelot, not just to the man sitting on the throne. At this moment in time, I represent the king. So quit moaning!”

Gaius sighed deeply, reluctantly following his queen down into the citadel’s bowels. Hueil and Sir Edward cluttered down the spiralling steps after them, each clearly dubious what this new scheme might possibly achieve in the coming battle. Geoffrey of Monmouth disentangled his head from the tapestry and trotted down the stairs, still muttering they should wait for Arthur to arrive.

When they reached the bottom of the stair case, Gaius had to rest. He held on to the damp wall beside him and puffed. “My lady, I fear on this occasion Geoffrey may be right. I cannot see what we could possibly do that Sir Edward and his knights haven’t already done in defence of the citadel?”

Gwen turned and pulled a face, the flickering light adding two little horns to her shadow’s hair, as she faced her old friend. “Since Arthur has put me in charge of the citadel...you can jolly well watch me defend his realm as I see fit!”

“But my lady, if Arthur finds out we’ve used magic to defend his realm –“

“Gaius, none of this would have happened, if Arthur had stayed at home with me and not set out on yet another ill-advised quest. You’re a physician! Find a cure for his pig-headedness and leave me to worry about the sorcery!”

Shivering in the icy cold tunnel, Gaius snatched the tapestry from Geoffrey and wrapped it around his shoulders. “How exactly, with your Majesty’s gracious permission, should I cure Arthur of his wanderlust and you of your eternal fear for his safety without the use of sorcery? That boy was born with ants in his breeches and nothing but jousting on his mind. He’ll never be a stay-at-home husband and well you know it. Now, what about that dragon-beastie you want us to conjure up? Isn’t there something in Aurelius’ dragon book...I seem to recall a chapter on magical tincture?”

“Aurelius’ tinctures!” Gwen snorted and headed back into the darkness with a grim expression on her face. “You won’t conjure up a fully grown dragon with tincture of honey and lemon balm...but you never know...it might cure the beastie’s chesty cough before Leofwine gets around to carving out its heart!”

Her fingers gliding along the damp and moss-covered wall on her left, Gwen plunged into the gloom, raising her torch with her right hand to guide her party. The long tunnel ahead of them was lit up by just one wall sconce every twenty yards and sloped downwards, heading to the very bowels of the castle. Gaius had trouble keeping up with the lithe young queen. Above them, the bombardment never ceased, explosions and screams followed their descent, the stench of burning flesh already pervaded the citadel and spurned Gwen on to hurry even more. Hueil easily overtook Gaius with his long strides and fell in beside the queen, urging her to explain her plan, while her aged fellow conspirators tramped reluctantly behind them, trying to keep up.

They finally reached a small, cave-like chamber, where they came to a halt at the outer dungeon gates. Gaius caught his breath and peered through the lattice work, where a heavily studded oak door led into the inner most secrets of the citadel.

“How are we going to conjure up a dragon? I haven’t enough puff left in my lungs to conjure up a squirrel...erm...I mean if I did have magic...which I don’t, Your Majesty!” Sir Edward cried in a loud voice, causing everyone to jump out of their skin. He leant against the roughly hewn stone work lining the chamber and mopped his brow. “Has one of you any practical experience in such matters?”

 “It’s no use looking at me, there are no more spell books left in my library; Uther burned the lot.” Geoffrey panted. He rattled the bars of the outer dungeon gates, his breath finally catching up with his lungs.

“Does anyone else hear this ringing noise?” Sir Edward asked nervously, his head cocked to one side like a bird’s. “I fear there must be sorcery at play. All I can hear is a strange ringing.” He clapped his hands to his ears and frowned.

Hueil lifted the old knight’s hands and pronounced his words slowly and with care. “There was an explosion, my good knight...sulphur Gaius said, I believe. It’s highly flammable and doesn’t agree with the other fragrant ingredients of your physician’s chamber. Help us stir the queen’s pet dragon into action, Sir Edward; the ringing in your ears will soon subside.”

Hueil flashed a smile at the queen, when Sir Edward’s enlightened face showed them he had at last regained his wits. Sir Edward nodded enthusiastically. “A pet dragon...yes, I understand,” he cried, pointing to the dungeon’s doors. “I’d love to see Leofwine’s face when he finds out!”

Gaius scratched his head. “Have you all gone mad?”

Gwen giggled and unlocked the gates with a huge key from the set dangling off the embroidered belt gathering her gown at her waist. She tripped lightly through the gates, the others following her less lightly, and pushed open the studded doors. Bright lights flooded the small cave-like entrance, causing everyone to squint. The clamour of many voices drifted up from the innards of the citadel and when Gaius sidled pasts the queen to cast an enquiring look down yet another set of stairs, he noted a long line of servants hurrying along the tunnels below, each servant laden with household furniture, a stream of ants on their way to a gigantic nest.

Gaius’ eyes widened. “That’s your cunning plan? We’re moving into the dungeons! I don’t think that’s going to save our skins for very long. It won’t take Leofwine long to discover us, you know.”

“But I want him to find us!” Gwen turned to him, a wide grin spreading across her face. “Leofwine wants a dragon queen’s heart, so he shall have one. He’ll have to cut it out first, though! Let Leofwine show us that he’s the mighty warrior he claims to be...a dragon slayer and worthy King of Camelot!” She raised her hands playfully and turned them into claws. “I’ll give him a fire-breathing, smoke-spewing beastie, a gigantic scaly worm that’s lurking in the tunnels just waiting to do battle. Grrrrrrrr. May the smoke from his fiery nostrils rise to the heavens like a beacon and bring my Arthur home!”

Hueil slapped his forehead and burst out laughing. “Why, of course, that’s brilliant!”

Gaius looked bewildered from his queen to his enemy’s servant. “This...erm...scaly worm...if it’s not going to live long...does it really need all this furniture for its comforts? I mean, if it’s all the same to you, but that was my favourite arm chair I just saw Emma carrying into the cave.”

Gwen’s silvery laugh rang through the corridors and bounced off the cave’s domed ceiling. “Show me the Great Dragon’s broken chain, Gaius, and I promise to explain. The poisoned arrow must still be addling your brain.”

“I thought the arrow hit his chest,” Geoffrey muttered, shaking his head as they walked down the steep stairs to join the throng of huntsmen, beaters, servants and maids, who streamed into the great cave that had been the Great Dragon’s prison for more than twenty years.

In the centre, just under a natural sky light hundreds of feet above their heads, the servants had erected a huge pile of every flammable thing Camelot could spare. The conspirators found the severed end of the enormous chain that had once held the Great Dragon Kilgharrah prisoner and with the help of a couple of servants and with much huffing and puffing, Sir Edward and Hueil finally heaved the massive chain into position; it now led from the darkest part of the cave to the centre, where a rather oddly shaped pile of furniture grew with every new arrival of servants.

Gwen watched the men carry the enormous instrument of Kilgharrah’s imprisonment. She turned to Sir Edward. “Look, over there! How generous of our old friend the Great Dragon. He’s left us a souvenir of his time at Camelot. Gather the scales together and scatter them in the tunnels on the other side of the cave. Take a scouting party with you. When Leofwine’s warriors enter the tunnels, they’ll find a dragon’s heartbeat that’s far fiercer than anything the sorcerer king has ever dreamt possible!”

“And if Arthur enters the tunnels first?”

“Sir Edward, we must make sure it’s Leofwine who enters first! Any ideas?”

“Leave it to us, my lady. I think I’ve got an idea how to lure him and his men into the tunnels.” Hueil grinned, already setting off at a trot with Sir Edward and several guards hot on his heels.

Gwen turned to Geoffrey and Gaius. “Now for a little dragon magic, my friends! Show me what’s in that cauldron of yours, Gaius, and we’ll see if our fire-breather can’t greet King Leofwine with a little snap, sparkle and pop.”

Gaius looked around the enormous cave and spotted several strategically placed fire baskets under the most important air shafts. Finally catching on to Gwen’s brilliant plan, he chuckled and slid the moth-eaten tapestry from his shoulders, handing it to Emma, who had just appeared with an arm full of old cushions by his side. “Here, take this my girl, it’ll be perfect for the dragon’s head.”

Emma looked up anxiously, when another attack from Leofwine’s mangonels made short work of demolishing the turrets of the middle tower. “I’ll get the wall hangings from King Uther’s former chambers, shall I? Those gloomy purple ones with the severed Saxon heads?”

“Splendid idea, Emma! And get the old rascal’s robes whilst you’re at it. He won’t need them anymore and this beastie of ours requires an awful lot of skin!” Gaius nodded encouragingly and strolled over to the ever increasing furniture pile.

Emma handed tapestry and cushions over to a young lad, who scrambled up on the pile and stuffed the cushions into a tangle of chairs, before draping the tapestry over the arrangement.

“Try to make it bulge out a bit more...yes, that’s it...just like a dragon’s brow. Well done!” Gaius encouraged the young squire. The boy flashed a shy smile at the old physician, before starting to drape blankets and sheets over a long line of upturned armchairs that sat on top of a pile of tables. The furniture-beastie wobbled dangerously, but the lithe young squire sprang from chair to chair with the agility of a squirrel without causing the pile to collapse.

Gwen watched the creation of her very own dragon with pride. Every available servant, guard, hunter and squire had answered her call and was determined to defend Camelot. The royal guards and knights had taken up their positions by the cave’s various entrances, the kitchen servants were manning the fire baskets and Gaius skipped between all of them, handing out small leather pouches containing plenty of snap, crackle and pop to greet their unwelcome guests.

“Arthur has truly created a realm worth dying for. I wonder if Leofwine’s men feel quite the same about their’s,” she muttered absentmindedly, when an exhausted messenger arrived and handed her a small piece of parchment. The man collapsed at her feet and had to be carried off.

She unfolded the blood-stained, crumpled message and gasped. “It’s from Arthur! He’s finally coming home...and he’s not alone!”

Before she had time to hug Gaius, who had hurried over to her, Hueil returned, one of his cheeks was bleeding and an arrow protruded from his right shoulder. He sunk to his knees before the queen. “Sir Edward and his men are luring Leofwine’s men into the tunnels. They’ll be here any moment. Prepare the beast, my lady, or all is lost!”

“Gaius, help Hueil! Geoffrey, now would be a good time to start lighting the fires!” Gwen stopped a passing knight and drew his sword. “For Camelot!”

“For Camelot!” Every man, woman and child in the cave responded to the queen’s rallying cry, but their voices were drowned by the roar approaching from the tunnels; the onslaught of enemy shouts and taunts was accompanied by trumpet fanfares and drums and the unmistakable sound of clashing swords.


	19. 19

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Arthur and his knights have reached the secret entrance to Camelot's dungeons. They make an encampment outside, waiting for Segovia's rear guard to arrive, so they can cut them off. They have an idea that they can stop the marching army in their tracks by luring them into a drinking session...serving up Deira's enchanted wine. Once Leofwine's rear guard has been turned into trolls they will have no choice but to follow Ethelgunda, Marigold and Yolanda, as the spell binds them to the three witches' command. To his horror, Dragonara is determined to go through with her plans to sacrifice herself for the greater good of Camelot. They see the citadel in flames. Will they be in time to safe Arthur's kingdom?

At the Rowan entrance to secret tunnels leading into the caves under Camelot...

 

Arthur’s party had passed through Osthryth’s Fort unchallenged. Now his men were watching the entrance to the tunnels from the safe distance of a clearing in the forest. A small movement in the trees above signalled the return of Urien’s falcon. The prince held out his arm and the graceful animal swooped down from its perch. The falcon raised his leg and Urien detached a tiny silver cylinder, taking out the miniscule cork that stoppered it.

“How long do you think before Lot and Bres’ men get here, Urien?” Arthur whispered, thoughtfully turning Excalibur in his hands. He cast an anxious glance at the parchment in the prince’s hands. “We could do with some good news.”

“It’s from my friends in Bres!” Urien squinted at the piece of parchment and motioned Arthur and Merlin to come closer. Merlin raised the burning log he had picked up from a rather miserable fire that was struggling to bring a little warmth and comfort to their make-shift camp. The flickering light fell across Urien's hands and lit up Arthur's worried face.

Urien sighed. “Well, I guess you could call it good news of sorts. We must hold out until tomorrow evening. Even if they take the short cut through the Valley of Doom in Odin’s lands they can’t possibly arrive before sun set.” The prince looked up and sniffed the air. “Hm...camp fires...and close by. Stop tugging at my cloak, Siward, what do you want?”

Urien’s servant hastily retreated a couple of steps, when he saw the frown on his master’s face. “My lord, Kai and a couple of King Arthur’s scouts have just returned. A raiding party lead by one of King Leofwine’s most loyal knights has set up camp less than quarter of a league from here. At least two hundred men by Kai’s reckoning.”

“Then it’s closer to three hundred! That boy was never any good with sums!” Urien stamped his cold feet. “Damn, that’s three hundred men just waiting to sneak into the citadel through these tunnels. How on earth did Leofwine find out about them?”

“Probably the same way everybody else does who sneaks in and out of Camelot! Gaius thinks one of the dungeon’s guards is taking bribes,” Merlin sidled up to his king’s side. “Arthur, I have an idea how we can eliminate the threat from Leofwine’s men.”

Arthur turned and stared. “You...an idea?” He snorted dismissively, but Merlin’s serious face prevented him from teasing his servant further. “Go on surprise me...I’m willing to listen to anything...as long as it doesn’t involve herb salad and rabbits again.”

Merlin pulled a face. “No, but you’re on the right track. Our friends in the encampment have had such a long walk. Thirsty work, marching all day, don’t you think?”

“They’re camping by the Fort, plenty of water for horses and men,” Arthur frowned. “Merlin, don’t waste my time with riddles.”

“Why not let them have a small reward for their troubles?” Merlin jerked his head into the direction of the wine barrels, which a thoughtful Kai had managed to retrieve and smuggled back with their retinue. “I know strictly speaking this would involve the use of magic...but the wine’s enchantment is still powerful and...we have the pleasure of entertaining several ladies in our party.” Merlin pointed with a grin at Ethelgunda, Yolanda and a restless Lady Dragonara, who was pacing up and down in front of a palisade, where Gawain had tied up the horses.

“A honey trap! I like it! Good thinking, Merlin. Let Leofwine enjoy the taste of his own medicine.” Arthur called over two of his men. “I cannot spare any of my knights. Merlin, do you think you, Kai and Siward here can manage with one of my scouts?”

Merlin nodded. “Absolutely, but we will need at least one of the ladies to come with us.”

“You couldn’t make it my godmother, could you? She’s spooking the horses with her pacing and we really don’t want to draw any more attention to our presence here.” Arthur’s thumb pointed to the palisade, where two of the horses had started whinnying and stamping the ground with their hooves. “Merlin, don’t return to this place. Meet us at –“

Merlin raised an index finger to his lips and urged his king to caution. “I’ll find you, Arthur, never fear. Today is not the day where you’ll need to advertise for a new servant.”

“I shall, if your plan fails and a raiding party of Leofwine’s men overruns us!” Arthur clapped a hand on his servant’s shoulder and let it rest there for a moment. The two young men looked at each other briefly; then the king let his hand slide from Merlin’s shoulder and smiled wanly. “Come back in one piece, will you.”

Merlin’s eyes widened. “I didn’t know you cared.”

“Of course I care...you were supposed to darn my socks and there’s still a tear in my cloak you promised to mend.” A grin spread across Arthur’s face, when he saw the hurt on Merlin’s face. He reached out and ruffled his servant’s dark curls. Merlin wrinkled his nose and pulled away from his king’s caress, knowing that any show of royal affection would invariably be followed by a knightly clout on the back.

Shortly afterwards Merlin, Kai and Siward together with one of the scouts and the Lady Dragonara sneaked out of the forest and made their way to the enemy’s camp. It was hard work pulling a cart containing heavy wine barrels across undulating forest ground, through dense undergrowth of fern and bracken, over rocks and fallen branches, but if Merlin’s arms ached at all, he ignored it and pressed his companions for greater haste instead.

Merlin bid Siward and Kai to take over his cart duties for a moment so he could hasten to Dragonara’s side.

“Foolish boy! What do you think this mission will accomplish? The wine’s enchantment is no longer strong enough, my earlier spell saw to that. Even if it were the same potion it once was it takes several hours for a full transformation to take place. You’re not going to lead an army of battle hungry trolls back to Arthur, but a garrison of love-sick puppies. We should be at his side right now, not gallivanting through the forest.”

“My lady, together we can enhance the potency of the wine. A three hundred-strong raiding party of trolls commanded by the ladies in our camp might prompt King Leofwine to enter into more civil negotiations with Camelot. Surely that’s worth a shot?”

“It’ll buy us time, I grant you, but the outcome will be just the same. There are simply not enough warriors protecting the citadel. A dragon’s heart must be handed over or Camelot and all its allies will fall.” Dragonara breathed in deeply, turned and stared back over her shoulder. A red glow had appeared on the horizon. She pointed to a column of smoke rising from the hills beyond the forest. “Look, my fate is sealed, Merlin, there’s nothing you can do.”

Merlin spun around and what he saw made him shudder. “The citadel is burning! You’re right! Camelot will fall if we don’t hurry.” He raced back to the cart and helped Kai and Siward pull the wine barrels with renewed vigour.

***

In another encampment in the forest surrounding Camelot...

 

“Where the hell have you been?” King Leofwine paced up and down at the tunnel’s entrance, scowling at one of his men.

The scout, who had just returned, fell down on one knee. “My liege! I did as you asked and rode to our encampment at Rowan to give them your signal to storm the tunnels as soon as Arthur’s party had entered.” The scout inhaled sharply and straightened his shoulders before continuing. “Sire...they’ve disappeared.”

“What do you mean...disappeared? My men entered the tunnels before you gave word, is that what you mean?”

“No, Sire.” The scout puffed up his cheeks and released air through his pursed lips with a hiss. “Puff...and vanished, is what I mean! Arthur’s party is gone...and what’s worse, Sire, so are our men! There is no sign they ever entered the tunnels at Rowan. The raiding party’s encampment was deserted, no horses, no weapons, no men. Do you think Arthur’s got magic?”

Leofwine stared at the smoke clouds swirling up from the air shafts under the citadel. He raised his fist into the air. “They must have entered the tunnels before we were ready! Fools, don’t just stand there, give the signal, we’re going in!”

The captain of Leofwine’s personal guards intervened. “Sire, without our raiding party at Rowan we are three hundred men short and have no idea where Arthur and his men are hiding. The King of Camelot will know these tunnels and caves like the back of his hand. If there really is a dragon living in the great cave –“

“Look for yourself, fool! It’s there alright.” Leofwine pointed to the red glow of flames that shot out from cracks in the rocks of the bluff on which Camelot had been built. He pulled a large crystal from a leather satchel dangling from his belt. “I saw it. My crystal doesn’t lie!” The king waived the stone wildly towards the tunnel entrance, where ringlets of smoke drifted up into the cold night air and joined the clouds of white smoke billowing from the citadel’s many fires.

“Just listen to that rumbling sound...like distant thunder. Can’t you tell, man...it’s the beast’s last goodbye?” A smile stole across Leofwine’s grey face and he bared his teeth like a wolf about to pounce. “Mark my words, at dawn I shall carve out her cheating heart.” Leofwine dropped the crystal back into his satchel and tore out a piece of parchment instead.

“Listen to this: Camelot’s impudent Queen Guinevere dared to send me an ultimatum! A servant girl dictating terms to me! She’ll soon learn what makes a real king.” Leofwine laughed unpleasantly. “Who knows, if she apologises nicely...I might overlook her youthful arrogance and make her my future queen. I hear she’s rather pleasing to the eye and she might bear me many sons.”

The captain of the guard took the parchment Leofwine held out to him and read out loud. “Come and get your prize from the great cave if you dare. It was Arthur who captured the dragon and put her in chains. If you are a worthier warrior than the king of Camelot himself, I have no doubt the beast will be happy to oblige,” the captain shook his head. “Sire, this has all the hallmarks of a trap. _Beware beautiful women who are too obliging_ is what my mother always used to say and I’ve always found her advice to be sound in this regard.”

But Leofwine no longer listened to his men. “Your mother, if I recall, also foretold the crown of Segovia would be worn by a servant’s offspring one day and her prediction was made more than forty years ago...as you can see, Segovia’s crown still sits firmly on my head and I promise you, only a man of royal blood will wed my Eleanor!” Leofwine selected an elaborately decorated sword from a row of weapons on a stand by the side of his tent. “Tell your mother to mind her own business – which is baking pies and dumplings, my friend, while mine is to rule and be a leader of men!”

The captain of the guards stared wordlessly at his hands, folding the parchment into ever smaller pieces, before handing it back to his king. The seasoned warrior’s grizzled head bowed in a silent salute and he turned on his heal to signal to his men.

Disregarding him, King Leofwine draped a fur-lined cloak around his shoulders and fastened it under his chin. “Let’s not keep Queen Guinevere waiting. If we can trap Arthur and his men between us and the dragon, the beast will decide who lives and who dies today.” Leofwine raised his sword and hurried into the dark abyss, his cloak billowing behind him in the wind, Segovia’s crown glittering in the light of the flames that had sprung up all around the tunnel entrance and further up on the bluff, where the citadel stood in blazing in the night and the screams of the men and women inside could be heard across the realm.

The captain sighed and drew his sword, following the leader of men into the tunnel, at the end of which he suspected nothing good would emerge. Had not his mother always said how those who ruled today would find out tomorrow there was always a power greater than theirs?

 ***

In a forest clearing by the tunnel entrance at Geoffrey’s Rest...

 

“Merlin, where have you been? Arthur’s been spitting nails and hell fire.” Gawain clouted his friend’s ears with rough affection the moment the young sorcerer appeared in the camp. “You were gone for hours! What happened? You’re not telling me Leofwine’s soldiers refused wine and song in favour of water and bread?”

Merlin raised his arms to protect his head and dived behind the relative safety of Percival’s bulk suddenly rearing up behind the friends. Merlin’s hiding place didn’t save him for Percival pulled him out and shoved him gently but firmly into the centre of an emerging circle of friends. Sir Leon, Percival and Elyan had joined them noiselessly. Gawain eyed Merlin anxiously. “Did your plan succeed?”

Merlin beamed. “Look for yourself, my friends.” He inclined his head to the left, where to Gawain’s astonishment a single file of trolls followed the Lady Dragonara through the forest like a herd of mild-mannered sheep.

“By all the fair maidens you’ve kissed in taverns and all the beer we’ve had in Arthur’s realm...those trolls are even uglier than you were...and that’s saying something, Gawain!” Sir Leon watched the line of lovelorn trolls with appreciation before remarking with a grin: “A sight to warm my heart. Armed to the teeth and ready to do mischief in the name of their beautiful captain! Makes me wonder, if I shouldn’t appoint a woman to lead our future castle guards.”

“Appoint Dragonara as the captain and I promise none of us will be late for guard duty or grumble at having to sit through night watch ever again!” Gawain inclined his head to stare open mouthed at Dragonara’s retreating rear as the next column of warriors rode by. Sir Leon dug his elbows into Gawaine’s ribs, alerting him to Arthur’s approach. “Erm...she’s a fine horsewoman, and probably handy with a sword. Just look at the way her body moves with the gait of the horse.” Gawaine said hurriedly, rubbing his side where Sir Leon’s disapproving elbow had left a bruise.

“Oy, that’s my godmother you’re eyeballing!” The last remark had not escaped Arthur and he grabbed Gawain forcefully by the ear. “Isn’t there a battle you should be preparing for, my lusty knight?”

“Who needs an enemy army, when my friends can inflict so much more pain?” Gawain’s watering eyes couldn’t resist following in admiration as the throng of Segovia’s enchanted warriors rode by. “I’m just glad Sir Leon thinks there’s going to be a future castle guard a woman could lead. What are our chances getting out of this alive, Arthur?”

Arthur let go off his knight’s ear and inhaled sharply. “Unless we can hold off Leofwine’s men until sunset...pretty much none, I fear.” He motioned to his knights to gather around and his loyal troops followed suit.

“You know what is at stake – Camelot’s very future will be decided tonight. By the flames coming from the bluff under the citadel I’d say the fires from Leofwine’s bombardment have already spread throughout the castle. We haven’t a moment to lose.” Arthur drew Excalibur and raised the sword into the air. “Each man must decide for himself, where he stands. That decision none can make for you. I know where I make my stand...for my heart, my soul and the hand that wields this sword are here for the love of Camelot!” He looked into the pale faces surrounding him and realised the forest around them had grown utterly still. “For the future of Albion!” Arthur cried, his voice ringing out into the night.

“For the love of Camelot!” The corresponding roar of his men echoed through the trees, seemingly bouncing off the hills and filling every heart with verve. “For the future of Albion!”

The horses began to whinny impatiently, their decorated harnesses gleaming in the light of the torches Segovia’s troll warriors held up to guide the way into the tunnel. To everyone’s surprise, it was not Arthur who led the knights into the mouth of the tunnel at Geoffrey’s Rest, the alternative entrance they had chosen to outwit Leofwine’s scouts.

Three women warriors headed the column of riders now streaming into the maze of caves. Merlin appeared at Arthur’s side and watched Dragonara’s horse enter the tunnel first.

“Do you think she’s still alive?” Arthur whispered and his blue eyes widened as he turned his pale face towards his servant. “How could I be so foolish and leave her unprotected without at least Sir Leon by her side? She’s never had to deal with a threat like this...and how could she, given her upbringing? If she dies because of my folly -”

Merlin rested his hand on Arthur’s sleeve. “If I know Gaius and his trusted friend Sir Edward, they’re concocting a surprise welcome for King Leofwine as we speak. Never fear, Sire, the queen’s well protected and awaiting your return.”

Startled by strange sounds coming from the citadel above, Merlin looked up and squinted at the blazing battlements, where one of the siege ladders had just crashed into the attackers below, burning men falling to their death on the raised lances and swords of their own comrades. He smiled wanly. “You forget Gwen’s used to sweeping intrusive dirt from Camelot’s steps.” Merlin was rather pleased about his little joke at Leofwine’s expense, but it fell on deaf ears.

Arthur just nodded absentmindedly; his unseeing eyes following Merlin’s fingers as they hurriedly tightened the leather straps that fastened plate armour and assemblies to the king’s arms and legs. “You’re right, Merlin. I should have more faith in Gwen’s ability to be queen...let’s not keep her waiting though. I don’t like the look of that smoke coming from the air shafts of the Great Cave.“ Arthur pulled his arm abruptly away, just as Merlin was trying to hand him his gloves. “Heavens above, did you hear that roar? That sounded just like a –“

“Dragon!” Merlin gasped, his eyes scanning the dark clouds in the sky. He felt his heart miss a beat and expected to see the wings and serpent head of his old friend Kilgharrah appear at any moment.

“You don’t think Gaius could have actually found a dragon, do you?”

Not waiting for an answer, Arthur ran towards the tunnel entrance where the last of Segovia’s troll warriors had just disappeared into the silent mouth of Geoffrey’s Rest. Merlin sprinted after him, elbowing his way through a swarm of Camelot’s soldiers heading for the same fate.


	20. 20

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The battle for Camelot is afoot! As Leofwine's soldiers enter the tunnels under the citadel, so do Arthur's men and trolls. Arthur still mistrusts his godmother but she proves her worth when she fights back to back with the young king. Merlin tries to stop evil Leofwine, when he spots him entering the tunnels unseen. Gwen and Gaius meanwhile have their hands full ministering to the wounded and keeping up moral of the remaining Camelot defenders. Merlin makes an important discovery about his own origins and how dragons and mankind came to be at war. Dragonara keeps her promise and starts to transform to her true shape and urges Merlin not to get in her way, but the young warlock doesn't want the queen to die such a, in his eyes, useless death, nor does he want Arthur to be put through the horror of killing his own godmother. Will the dragon lord succeed and stop Dragonara's sacrifice?

In tunnels leading to the Great Cave below Camelot’s citadel...

Arthur hurried past the long line of soldiers and trolls making their way through the damp tunnel to join Lady Dragonara, Ethelgunda and Yolanda at the top of the column. Merlin, hampered by carrying Arthur’s lance and shield, had trouble keeping up. While the ladies had ridden into the tunnel, Arthur and his men were mainly on foot, their horses left behind in the forest, where Kai and Siward, Urien’s faithful servants, would tend them until their master gave new orders. Merlin could not quite fathom the wisdom of taking horses into the caves, but the ladies had insisted on riding ahead.

“Can’t say I blame them,” Arthur panted beside him, “if Gwen and Gaius really managed to persuade a dragon to take up residence in our Great Cave, the ladies want to find their way out of here as fast as they can. Horses hate fire, so horses bolt for the nearest exit. I get that. Ladies are made for banqueting halls, singing and dancing. Men are made for war...aaaaand for slipping on slimy stuff in tunnels apparently!” Arthur clung to a crevice in the roughly hewn wall; his feet were trying to find purchase on the slippery ground before the king was forced to suffer the indignity of landing on his behind. He pulled himself into an upright position and inspected the sole of his left boot.  “What in the name of Camelot is THAT? It stinks worse than Gawain’s feet after a full day’s training.” Arthur sidled past a sticky patch of slime on the ground of the rat infested tunnel.

“Dragon dung?” suggested Merlin unhelpfully. He sighed and shifted the heavy shield to his right arm to give his left a rest. “You’re doing the ladies an injustice. Your godmother tells me dragons are fond of horseflesh. The ladies are merely using their horses as bait.” Merlin examined the sticky stain on Arthur’s boot. “Arthur, there’s every likelihood we’ll get out of this alive...can’t you stay clear of stinky mess just this once? I don’t want to spend the day of our liberation cleaning boots while everyone else is dancing and singing in the banqueting hall!”

“What makes you think you’d get an invitation?” Arthur snatched the oak shield from him and set off at a trot. “Speaking of banqueting halls, how did you persuade the Segovia soldiers to drink that enchanted wine? I’m surprised it still worked after Dragonara’s treatment.” Arthur glanced at the column of troll-soldiers ahead and frowned. “Did my godmother use sorcery to enhance its potency?”

“Not a bit!” An air of innocence spread across Merlin’s face. He reached into his pocket and produced a purse heavy with silver coins. “We pretended to be traders fleeing from Camelot. After a long day’s marching Leofwine’s men were thirsty and gulped the whole lot down without a second thought.” He shrugged his shoulders. “The spell is bound to work better on Segovia’s own men. We told them we had seen Leofwine’s beautiful queen heading for Camelot. They’ve had years to lust after your godmother...stands to reason they’re even more susceptible to her charms after drinking the wine.”

“I didn’t know you had developed an eye for the ladies...and older ladies at that!” A grin spread across Arthur’s face, when he noticed his servant’s embarrassment. “Now I know why you’re always hanging around Camelot’s kitchens...you can’t resist the lure of our cook’s dumplings! You’re braver than you look, Merlin.” Arthur laughed out loud. “Mind you, they do say beauty is in the eye of the beholder.”

In the dark next to him Merlin snorted. “Trust me Arthur; I can do a lot better than that old crow!”

Arthur chuckled good-naturedly. “Who’d have guessed there’s a whole different you? Merlin: Camelot’s very own duster-wielding seducer of fair maidens! Gawain’s corrupting influence is to blame, no doubt. A word of advice, you might want to change your appearance, if you’re hoping to better his record of success with tavern wenches. Ladies like a man who shows strength of mind and has some muscle in his arms.”  Arthur tried to squeeze Merlin’s biceps, but his servant held up the lance and blocked his king’s move. He quickened his pace and now it was Arthur’s turn to hurry after him.

“Why would I want to win the hearts of tavern girls? A man likes to better himself, not trade down.” Merlin panted moments later, trying to run while carrying the lance. There was always the risk of accidentally impaling his comrades-in-arms in the dark. They had reached the top of the column and were just a few paces behind Dragonara and her magnificent horse. Merlin slowed his pace to match Arthur’s. “I heard when you first happened across Dragonara out there in the forest you tried to make an impression by appearing in your birthday suit. Let me guess, you were trying to win your beautiful godmother’s admiration but the lady just took pity on you?”

Ignoring the taunt, Arthur stopped abruptly and turned to face his servant with an air of suspicion. “I see where this is leading...I married a serving girl and now you’re hoping to climb up the ladder, too.” Arthur grabbed Merlin’s arm roughly. “I have nothing against a servant making the most of his chances by pursuing a wealthy older woman but you’d better not set your sights at winning my godmother’s heart!”

“What’s that supposed to mean?” Merlin tore his arm out of the king’s grasp and scolded one of the torch bearing squires to keep up with the rest of the men. “My kind isn’t good enough for your godmother? I’m a servant and should know my place?” Merlin hissed at the king, when the hapless young squire was out of earshot.

“No, dollop-head!” Arthur slapped Merlin’s head. “I’m saying she’s an enchantress and not just in the usual sense of a beguiling face that turns a fellow’s head. She spells trouble...like all of her kind. When this idiotic war is over, she’ll answer to the laws of Camelot...there’s no place for sorcerers in my realm!”

Mistaking the dismay on Merlin’s face for hurt pride, Arthur reached out, giving his servant’s shoulder an affectionate, if painful squeeze. “Honestly, Merlin, lighten up. I didn’t really think you were setting your hopes on my godmother. She’d be flattered by the attentions of a young and...uh...not exactly repulsive fellow like yourself, no doubt, but she’s more trouble than she’s worth.” Arthur’s fingers reached for the broach that fastened the cloak under his chin. “Damn this thing’s far too tight; I feel I’m being throttled before the battle has even started. Does the tunnel feel hotter to you, too?”

Merlin ignored both the plea for help and his king’s discomfiture, preferring to march on at a faster pace. Arthur fell into a companionable trot by his side, playfully trying to match his servant’s gait. When Merlin continued to blank him, he dug his elbow into his servant’s ribs.

Merlin fastened his step. “I don’t recall you complaining when your godmother lifted the curse off everyone at Deira! You can’t have it both ways. Accept it, Arthur, not everyone who has magic is worthless or evil!”

“Oh, come on, don’t be like that! You know, we’ll never see eye to eye on this. We’re about to go into battle; let’s not quarrel.” Arthur slung an arm around Merlin’s neck and half wrestled him to the ground, before releasing him and ruffling his hair far more tenderly than Merlin had expected. Seeing Merlin’s surprise, Arthur relented. “If you must know, I’d wish for something far better for my...friend than losing his heart to a woman with a jilted lover on the throne of every realm.” Encouraged by the look of wonder on Merlin’s face, Arthur hurried on:” Even without magic, she’d still be a woman as untrustworthy as a goat in charge of Gaius’ herb garden, right?”

Before Merlin had a chance to reply, Arthur’s attention was distracted by a scout, who’d just arrived. The ladies were forced to dismount, when the horses refused to take another step into the darkness ahead. Arthur gathered his knights around him, while Merlin leaned against a large rock to catch his breath. They had reached the part of the underground vaults where two main tunnels intersected, the tunnel from Geoffrey’s Rest met up with the tunnel from Rowan in a smallish cave. Ahead of them a silent mouth gaped, tempting them into impenetrable darkness and onwards to the Great Cave.

Eying the entrance suspiciously, Dragonara gently stroked her horse’s nose. Arthur turned to her. “That’s odd...the horses are nervous, but not scared out of their wits...they should be, if we faced a dragon ahead. The smoke and flames we saw coming from the air shafts earlier must have been from fires within the citadel, courtesy of Leofwine’s men. All seems quiet now; Gwen must have ordered our men to put out the flames. Still, we’d better hurry.”

Arthur was proven wrong much sooner than anticipated when a flash of bright light shot through one of the air vents and exploded with a bang in the passage to their right. Knowing that it couldn’t possibly be a dragon, Merlin suspected foul play from Leofwine’s quarter. For a moment Merlin thought he had seen a man crouching in the shadows of the tunnel...the Rowan tunnel. He turned and stared with glowing eyes into the dying light but the man had disappeared. Merlin cast a spell into the passage, forcing all living things to reveal themselves only to him. Cowering on the ground, their dark purple cloaks blending in with the bluish rock formations all around them, Leofwine’s warriors had flattened themselves to the ground and into crevices, no doubt hoping to ambush Arthur and his men as soon as they had passed.

“Arthur, the Rowan tunnel is full of Segovia’s men!” Merlin cried and charged ahead with only Arthur’s lance as a weapon. Merlin’s eyes glowed fiercely, as his magic knocked out the first three warriors heading his way and he impaled the fourth on his lance. The man squealed, doubled up with his hands clutching his chest, where his blood was already drowning the golden crest of Segovia.

In no time the tunnels filled with the clashing of swords, the neighing of terrified horses and the cries of men falling under prey to the onslaught of Excalibur and Arthur’s knights. A second wave of Leofwine’s men thrust forward and into the affray, driving Camelot’s king and his men back into the small cave, where they ended up fighting back to back against Leofwine’s determined forces. Merlin dealt out magical blows left and right, but managed to keep an eye on Dragonara, who had unaccountably mounted again, clearly urging the other two ladies to do the same. Forcing their way through the melee of fighting men, the horses and their riders knocked over several of Leofwine’s men before charging ahead into the third tunnel, the one that lead to the Great Cave. The trolls abandoned the fighting and followed the women into the dark.

Strangely, as if a secret password had been spoken, Leofwine’s men also abandoned their attack and disappeared as noiselessly as they had come. Sir Percival advised pursuit and chasing after them in the Rowan tunnel, but Merlin urged Arthur to head for the Great Cave on the shortest possible route...the tunnel straight ahead. Arthur hesitated and laid a restraining hand on his servant’s shoulder.

“Merlin, I know you like my godmother...but she’s leading us into a trap. When all’s said and done...she’s a sorceress and they can’t be trusted. No way is that a dragon ahead of us. Even if Gwen had managed to find and trap one, how on earth could we slay the beast in this confined space? We’d be incinerated before we’d struck the first blow!”

“Arthur is right, Merlin. We drugged Leofwine’s raiding party at Rowan, yet here he is, lying in wait with a second contingent of men in the Rowan tunnel. That can’t be a coincidence, surely?” Percival towered over Merlin, urging him to see reason, his face full of concern.

“You’re both wrong. She’d never harm Arthur or Camelot! You’re just prejudiced because she’s got magic.”

“I’m not saying Dragonara’s planning to usurp Camelot’s throne like her husband’s done with some of his neighbouring realms...but we should proceed with the utmost caution and perhaps follow Leofwine’s men rather than charging ahead. We can decimate them one by one as we go along,” Percival pointed at the lance in Merlin’s hand. “Now that you’ve discovered the business end of that thing you might as well put it to good use.”

“What about the queen and the Citadel? If we get held up fighting skirmishes here in the tunnels, there might not be a Camelot left for us to save! Just look at the extent of the fires already raging under the citadel. Here, what’s this?” Merlin bent down and picked up a diamond shaped object from the ground. He held the thing under Arthur’s nose. “Where there’s dung...dragon scales won’t be far! Now do you believe in Queen Gwen’s beastie?”

Without waiting for an answer, Merlin pushed his way past Percival and Arthur and ran into the gaping mouth ahead. The darkness swallowed him up, but his arrival was greeted with a deep rumble and thunder that shook the small cave.

“Why can’t that dollop-head ever do as he’s told?” Arthur growled and sprinted after his errant underling.

“The words pot, kettle and black spring to mind!” Percival sighed and followed his friends into the abyss. Gawain and Elyan were hot on his heels. Sir Leon directed a small contingent of his men to follow Leofwine’s soldiers into the Rowan tunnel and wipe out as many of them as they could. Then Sir Leon led the remaining men into the tunnel that headed towards the Great Cave.

***

In the Great Cave under Camelot...

With Gwen’s assistance Gaius managed to break off the arrow’s shaft and bind Hueil’s shoulder as best as possible, but the man was losing a lot of blood. Weakened but undeterred to be of use, Hueil shook off Gwen’s ministering hands and drew his sword, joining the throng of knights and guards that surrounded the queen under Sir Edward’s command. Ahead of them the make-shift dragon had been set ablaze and all around them the air shafts fanned the small fire baskets the servants had placed around the Great Cave. Kilgharrah’s enormous chain led from the Rowan tunnel exit directly to the fake dragon and Gaius hoped together with the trail of dragon scales they had scattered in all the tunnels it would be enough to lure Leofwine’s men straight into Gwen’s trap.

When the first of Segovia’s warriors tumbled into the Great Cave, Gwen gave the command to throw the small leather pouches Gaius had made earlier into the fire baskets. The explosions knocked Leofwine’s men off their feet and to the ground, where Camelot’s soldiers made short work of them. The hunters and beaters kept up their drumming, producing a fairly realistic dragon roar. Unfortunately, Leofwine’s men kept on coming, there seemed no end to their numbers. Gwen gave the command for a second salve of explosives to be used and more skirmishes broke out, now engulfing the whole cave in fighting.

To her dismay Gwen spotted another purple clad wave of Segovia’s warriors charging through one of the tunnel exits but they were joined by a tall, skinny man dressed in blue shirt and brown hose. Merlin shot into the Great Cave like an arrow from a bow, wielding his lance with the intention to encourage the troll-soldiers rather than actually harming anyone. Their shaggy manes and hog-like features terrified Leofwine’s men and the supernatural strength of the trolls helped to drive part of the throng back into the tunnel, where Sir Leon’s men were already waiting for them. When a fresh wave of warriors spilled from the tunnels, this time from the one that led to Geoffrey’s Rest, Gaius broke out in a loud cheer, for they were wearing the red cloaks of Camelot and Arthur was leading them.

Before Gwen and Gaius had a chance to digest this new development and greet Arthur’s arrival, three women on horseback rode at full speed into the Great Cave. Petrified by the fires and explosions all around them, the horses bolted and threw off two of the horse-women. Ethelgunda and Yolanda were immediately surrounded by their loyal and utterly besotted troll guards, but the ladies clearly had no desire to be rescued and drew their daggers to hurl themselves at Leofwine’s men. Only the Lady Dragonara was still on horseback, her blonde mane glowing like a halo in the red flames. She charged at Leofwine’s men, her brave war horse scattering them like chickens in a farm yard. Leofwine’s soldiers were clearly unwilling to harm their queen and sought refuge rather than raise their weapons against her. Merlin clapped his hands over his ears in an effort to get his bearings. The Great Cave was thick with the stench of burning furniture and singed tapestries; the din of whinnying horses and the cries of dying men rose up into the dome and rang through the tunnels.

Leofwine had fought his way through various skirmishes and had reached the cave unscathed. From across the cave Merlin watched the sorcerer-king sneak out of a tunnel mouth. Raising his sword with one hand and the clutching the magical crystal in the other, Leofwine stayed well behind the lines of his fighting men, clinging to the rock face of the walls. Merlin’s eyes followed Leofwine’s gaze. The sight of his own warriors dressed in Segovia’s livery but fighting for Camelot seemed to pierce Leofwine’s heart like a dagger for he stared at his former lover and helpmate Dragonara with a face that was distorted by rage and hatred. Dragonara had dismounted and was now fighting back to back with Arthur, their height perfectly matched, their sword arms dealing out blows in harmony, their blonde heads and illuminated profiles betraying a kinship that went deeper than oaths made over holy water or promises made on the deathbed of erstwhile friends. With a pang Merlin remembered her words: _I recognise all my children by the kindness they hold in their hearts!_

In an instant Merlin understood. All creatures born of magic were part of the very fabric that held together the universe and made Earth what it was for the children of men. Uther’s plea to Nimueh had been answered - he had received the son and heir he craved but Nimueh was merely a high priestess, a woman initiated into the mysteries but lacking the magical power necessary to create such a son...not just a boy or common princeling but a king who would bring about Albion and unite the lands, a son honourable, tolerant and true of heart, a king whose memory would last into the mists of time. Arthur wasn’t just born of magic. Nimueh had taken credit for something another had accomplished. Arthur truly was a Pendragon...a dragon’s son...just like Eliffer and Eleanor!

To bring harmony to the children of men the dragon queen had created dragon lords giving them magic. Merlin caught his breath; his heart missed a beat when he understood the full implications of his reasoning. Magical beings were connected...and that meant...Merlin felt tears rise to his eyes...all magical beings like him shared a kinship with Dragonara and, in a manner of speaking, Arthur was his brother and just as magical in his own way!

Recalling where he was and what was at stake, Merlin wiped the tears from his eyes with the back of his hand and decided it was about time he dealt with Leofwine. On the other side of the cave the sorcerer-king slowly made his way towards his intended prize: Queen Guinevere. All around them, fires blazed; the putrid odour of rat droppings, mould and rotting leaves mingled with the rancid smell of burnt flesh and stung Merlin’s nostrils. This time it was the smoke that made Merlin’s eyes water and he squinted across the flames towards the Camelot quarter, where Gwen’s shape was flitting here and there, as she tended the wounded, hurrying to Gaius’ and then to Emma’s side to fetch water or more bandages for Camelot’s injured men, women and children.

In the centre of the cave Gwen’s fake dragon was beginning to fade, consumed by flames and hacked to pieces by Leofwine’s men. His soldiers had begun to drag smouldering chairs and trestle tables away from the fires, diminishing the dragon’s power to shield Gwen’s sanctuary. Stealing past a large boulder, Leofwine kept an eye on the flitting queen, while apparently assessing the cave. Merlin’s eyes followed the sorcerer-king’s. Above them in the cathedral like vault, the ceiling was studded with stalactites that dropped from the roof like gigantic icicles. All around them stalagmites rose up like pillars in a great hall. In some places the columns had been shattered by a great force, the rock face still showing recent scars, where lichen and moss had not had sufficient time to cover the breaks. Watching closely, Merlin saw how a mirthless smile lit up Leofwine’s face. He’d been right all along: a real dragon had lived here until fairly recently. Undoubtedly, Leofwine pondered if the queen had either secreted the beast in one of the many tunnels or hidden the creature elsewhere.

The sorcerer-king had raised his crystal and summoned a spell before Merlin could stop him, bringing down an enormous stalactite that crashed onto the heads of the troops below. Realising too late that he had chosen the wrong hiding place, Merlin was forced to dive for better cover or be trampled by the wave of fleeing trolls and men. A large fragment of the rock forced Arthur and Dragonara apart. Merlin lost sight of Arthur when a second spell illuminated the vault and brought down an even larger icicle, this time causing devastation among Gwen’s wounded.

Leofwine did not waste time; dazed by the noise and dust, Merlin tried to scramble over fallen debris and towards Gwen, guessing Leofwine’s intent. However, he was too late. Leofwine took one huge leap and reached the queen before Merlin did, but the sorcerer-king hadn’t reckoned with Hueil, who darted across and put his bulk between Leofwine and the queen.  Despite his wound, he challenged Leofwine, exchanging blow after blow, before Leofwine lost his patience and simply raised his crystal, removing Hueil with a spell that sent Urien’s favourite servant into the nearest wall with a skull-shattering force. Gwen cried out and tried to flee back into the circle of her guards with Sir Edward’s sword trying to protect her this time, but Leofwine was faster. He caught her by the wrist and dragged her towards him, holding on to her like a falcon unwilling to give up his prey.

“Bring me the ransom I was promised, Arthur Pendragon, and I’ll return your queen unharmed!” Casting another spell, Leofwine raised the crystal once more and Gwen disappeared in a cloud of golden dust. Leofwine grabbed the bridle of a fleeing horse and jumped on the animal’s back, charging into the Rowan tunnel without heeding the injuries he caused to his own men or any of Arthur’s soldiers being able to stop him.

Howling with rage, Arthur and his knights decimated Segovia’s men, the trolls fighting on Camelot’s side harder than before. Leofwine’s remaining garrison fled back into the Rowan tunnel and out of the caves to reassemble outside the citadel.

A strange calm was beginning to settle on the cave. Sir Leon was rounding up the remaining guards, Arthur and Gaius saw to the wounded, while Percival, Gawain and Elyan dispatched the last of Segovia’s warriors. Ethelgunda, aided by her sister Yolanda, limped towards Camelot’s women and children. They were strangely silent; instead of crying, the children who were unharmed brought cups of water to Gwen’s guards, who were crestfallen and desolate having lost their beloved queen. Under Gaius command the women rushed to the wounded and tried to help them as best as they could. Exhausted, Geoffrey of Monmouth scrambled out from his hiding place and knelt by Hueil’s side; he fingered the back of Hueil’s skull gently, but the man was dead, there was nothing left but to carry him off and lay him out tenderly with the other who had given their lives for Camelot and freedom to live as they chose. Merlin crawled out from behind the rock that had given him shelter and tried to find his bearings in the dust and billowing smoke. To his surprise, someone took him by the hand and pulled him back down. When Merlin looked up, he was confronted by a pair of emerald green eyes.

“It’s time for the real dragon to appear! Don’t argue with me, young warlock. Here, hold my hand and don’t let go.” Dragonara squeezed his fingers hard and he could feel his magical power drain from him, as if an arrow had pierced a vein. “My strength has not fully returned after reviving Eliffer and Marigold. About time you made yourself useful today!”

Dragonara’s skin changed from smooth to rough and he sensed how her blood turned from warm to cold. Her neck grew longer and scaly; her beautiful face transformed into that of a reptile and her clothing began to tear and fall off her in shreds.

“There must be another way!” Merlin looked on in horror as her fingers began to transform into a dragon’s talons. “I’ll think of something. We’ll get Gwen back, I promise!” Merlin clung to her claw with both hands. “Please, you’re the last of your kind!”

“Look after Aithusa for me, young warlock. It’s been a pleasure knowing you.” Dragonara smiled, gradually transforming into her dragon shape, her elongated face now graced by several rows of razor-sharp teeth, her emerald eyes changing into snake-like pupils.

With his own powers gone completely, Merlin felt his fingers slipping and she gradually escaped his grasp. Unable to hold her, he rose with tears streaming down his cheeks. Her golden body reared up in front of him; one of her gigantic paws pushed the rock that had sheltered them out of the way as if it were a pebble. She unfurled her wings and launched into flight, causing the fighting all around them to stop as everyone dived for cover, terrified of a fire blast from above. Before taking off into the vault, Dragonara turned and addressed Merlin one last time, but her voice only made sense to a dragon lord. To everyone else she emitted an ear-shattering roar.

“I’ll await my fate at sunset...on the field called Gytha’s Meadow, just below the town. Don’t forget: it must be Arthur who cuts out my heart! It won’t be hard to convince my darling husband; trust me, Leofwine will relish the thought. He’s a coward at heart.”

“I won’t allow it! Come back here, you’ve got to obey your lord and master,” Merlin said, barely able to stand on his own two feet. She merely chuckled and extended her wings, soaring up into the cupola, where a rose-tinted dawn was already showing in the skylight hundreds of feet above his head.


	21. 21

At sunset...in a field to the east of the citadel...the King of Bres’ tent...

 

 

“What a magnificent gift!” Walter the Ponderous held the sword in his hands up to the fading light of the sun. “The craftsmanship on the pommel and cross is second to none and as for the gem-stones on the scabbard...words fail me! Truly, a sword fit for a king.”

“Please, don’t mention it.” Prince Urien’s cheeks coloured slightly. “It’s the least I can do to show my gratitude, my friend. Segovia shall be forever in your debt. Thank you for taking care of my sister. I know she won’t come to harm in your niece’s care.” Urien stopped pacing around the tent and faced Walter’s grizzled head. “Without the King of Bres’ courage and conviction we would face our doom today.”

“It was a mere stroke of luck that we should happen across the rear guard your father had left to cover the eastern flank. Clever of your father to assemble his army into a five-pronged attack pattern. He’s quite the tactical genius. Not that it seems to have done him much good in the case of his rear guard. Phew, the way they fled out of those tunnels...as if the hounds of hell were after them.”

Prince Urien sank into a chair opposite Walter and held his hands out to a lusty fire burning in a brazier. “If only they were hounds of hell...we could deal with them, no question,” he sighed.

Walter rested his chin upon the palm of his right hand and reached for a goblet on the table in front of him with his left. “Ye-es; the arrival of a fully grown dragon complicates matters somewhat but I doubt the beastie will interfere with our ultimate plans for long.”

Urien raised an eyebrow. “Complicates matters? I’m glad you think that beastie is all that stands between me and the throne!” He got up and tore back the flap of Walter’s tent. “Oh look how pretty, the sun’s setting over Camelot...or rather what’s left of it. And over there by the burning citadel are my father’s troops...about thirty thousand men, last time I counted. You haven’t forgotten about THEM, have you?”

Startled, the guard outside turned with an enquiring look, but Walter just waved him off. Urien let the tent flap slide back and returned to the table. Walter filled a silver goblet with wine and slid it across the table to his young friend.

“Here, drink this, it’ll calm your mind and drown your scruples! Whatever happens, you’ll be the winner today, my son!” Walter smiled benignly at his young comrade-in-arms. For a fleeting moment Urien couldn’t shake the feeling he had stared into the eyes of a snake. Disbelieving his ears, he shook his head but gulped down the proffered wine.

“Your father brought this on his own head, Urien. The kingdoms of Lot and Bres have lived peacefully and in friendship for generations; when your father took power and threatened everything we hold dear, we had no choice but to enter into this senseless war. If Leofwine’s army is destroyed at Arthur’s hands today, you’ll be the winner as you take your father’s throne with your step-sister by your side. If, on the other hand, Camelot should fall –“

“Then you’ll see to it that I’ll be sitting on the throne of Camelot and not my father!”

“My friend King Lot and I are in perfect agreement on this matter. Leofwine will find himself surrounded on all sides with nowhere to run.”

“I’ll drink to that, my old friend! Here’s to slaying bloodthirsty beasts before the day is out!”

A smile stole across Walter’s face as he turned his silver goblet thoughtfully in his hands. “Ye-es...and we both know which one of the dragons we’d like to skin alive first.”

Catching just a hint of vengefulness in Walter’s voice, Urien raised his own goblet. “You have my blessing, old friend! I’d say the lady’s outlived her usefulness.”

Laughing, both men clanged their goblets together, a silvery note filling the tent. They drank deeply, blood-red liquid spilling down Walter’s embroidered shirtfront and staining Urien’s chin. They put their goblets down in unison and Walter refilled Urien’s generously, keeping his twinkling eyes on an oak casket in the farthest corner of the tent.

“To the victor the spoils!”

“Urgh-exactly!” Urien burped, wiping his chin with the back of his hand. He smacked his lips with gusto and sniffed the contents of his goblet. “Say what you will about my father, but he keeps a good vintage in his cellar!”

As the last rays of the sun set over Camelot and Gytha’s Meadow, Walter and Urien drank to each other’s health from the wine Walter’s men had confiscated earlier that day, when they came across a small contingent of Segovia’s men guarding a camp close to Camelot’s tunnels...

 


End file.
